"It is a happiness that God sends me as well as you.

If it be His will that I--do not recover, this makes it easy for me.

If He wills it that I live, then, in His infinite mercy, He also gives me the reason for living." Icy cold, Ailsa's hand lay there, limply touching Berkley's; the sick man's eyes were upon them.
"Philip!" "Sir ?" "My watch is hanging from a nail on the wall.

There is a chamois bag hanging with it.

Give--it--to me." And when it lay in his hand he picked at the string, forced it open, drew out a key, and laid it in Berkley's hand with a faint smile.
"You remember, Philip ?" "Yes, sir." The wounded man looked at Ailsa wistfully.
"It is the key to my house, dear.