A grey, deathly dawn crept over the snow. Yes, he could see the houses. He put out the gas. It seemed very dark. The breathing came still, but he was almost used to it.

He could see her. She was just the same. He wondered if he piled heavy clothes on top of her it would stop. He looked at her. That was not her — not her a bit. If he piled the blanket and heavy coats on her—

Suddenly the door opened, and Annie entered. She looked at him questioningly.

‘Just the same,’ he said calmly.

They whispered together a minute, then he went downstairs to get breakfast. It was twenty to eight. Soon Annie came down.

‘Isn’t it awful! Doesn’t she look awful!’ she whispered, dazed with horror.

He nodded.

‘If she looks like that!’ said Annie.

‘Drink some tea,’ he said.

They went upstairs again. Soon the neighbours came with their frightened question:

‘How is she?’

It went on just the same. She lay with her cheek in her hand, her mouth fallen open, and the great, ghastly snores came and went.

At ten o’clock nurse came. She looked strange and woebegone.

‘Nurse,’ cried Paul, ‘she’ll last like this for days?’

‘She can’t, Mr. Morel,’ said nurse. ‘She can’t.’

There was a silence.

‘Isn’t it dreadful!’ wailed the nurse. ‘Who would have thought she could stand it? Go down now, Mr. Morel, go down.’

At last, at about eleven o’clock, he went downstairs and sat in the neighbour’s house. Annie was downstairs also. Nurse and Arthur were upstairs. Paul sat with his head in his hand. Suddenly Annie came flying across the yard crying, half mad:

‘Paul — Paul — she’s gone!’

In a second he was back in his own house and upstairs. She lay curled up and still, with her face on her hand, and nurse was wiping her mouth. They all stood back. He kneeled down, and put his face to hers and his arms round her:

‘My love — my love — oh, my love!’ he whispered again and again. ‘My love — oh, my love!’

Then he heard the nurse behind him, crying, saying:

‘She’s better, Mr. Morel, she’s better.’