Yet Ann was not repulsed by it; her tears fell upon it; and once
she had bent over it, and kissed it gently. Now and then she put her
mouth close to the deafened ear, and spoke to him, calling him by fond
names, and imploring him to give some sign that he heard, and knew her.
But there was no sign. The heavy breathing grew more thick and labored,
yet feebler as the time passed slowly on. David Chantrey marvelled at
the poor sister's patience and tenderness.
"Don't trouble to stay with me, sir," she said, at last, "I thought
perhaps he'd come to himself, and you'd say a word to him. But there's
no hope of that now."
"No," he answered, "I will not go, Ann," and his-voice trembled with
dread. "Do you think my wife could ever be as bad as this?"
"God forbid!" she cried, earnestly. "God keep her from it! Oh! if she
could but see; if she could but know! But he wasn't always like this. He
was a kind, good-natured, clever man once. It's drinking that's ruined
him."
"I will stay with you to the end," said Mr. Chantrey; "it is fit for me.
You are teaching me a lesson of patience, Ann.
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