"He exhausted himself last night," Dorothea said to herself, thinking
at first that he was asleep, and that the summer-house was too damp a
place to rest in. But then she remembered that of late she had seen
him take that attitude when she was reading to him, as if he found it
easier than any other; and that he would sometimes speak, as well as
listen, with his face down in that way. She went into the summerhouse
and said, "I am come, Edward; I am ready."
He took no notice, and she thought that he must be fast asleep. She
laid her hand on his shoulder, and repeated, "I am ready!" Still he was
motionless; and with a sudden confused fear, she leaned down to him,
took off his velvet cap, and leaned her cheek close to his head, crying
in a distressed tone--
"Wake, dear, wake! Listen to me. I am come to answer." But Dorothea
never gave her answer.
Later in the day, Lydgate was seated by her bedside, and she was
talking deliriously, thinking aloud, and recalling what had gone
through her mind the night before. She knew him, and called him by his
name, but appeared to think it right that she should explain everything
to him; and again, and again, begged him to explain everything to her
husband.
"Tell him I shall go to him soon: I am ready to promise. Only,
thinking about it was so dreadful--it has made me ill. Not very ill.
I shall soon be better. Go and tell him."
But the silence in her husband's ear was never more to be broken.