As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. But the love of life prevailed over his fears. Dear me! if there isn't his knock. There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. It was the grand nursery of vice. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. To-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind what to do.
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