It was not quite gone, and whilst there was life there was hope.
They stood round her bed watching the calm, pale face with a love and anxiety so intense that they could neither speak nor breathe.

Gladys looked almost as pale as her mistress, and as the light fell upon her when she was leaning over her, she might have been the angel of death herself.
Mrs Jonathan Prothero drew Rowland from the room and insisted upon his taking some refreshment.

He had travelled all night, and Mr Gwynne, at his daughter's request, had sent his carriage to meet him.
Miss Gwynne and Miss Hall were still waiting downstairs.

They asked Mrs Jonathan if they could be of any use in taking Gladys's place whilst the poor girl got some rest; Mrs Jonathan said it was useless to urge her to leave her mistress for a moment.
Rowland thanked Miss Gwynne for her kindness, and she said she would do anything in the world for Mrs Prothero.
She and Miss Hall went away in the carriage that brought Rowland, promising to return again in the afternoon.
When Rowland had swallowed some coffee, he went back to his mother's room.

As he walked from the door to the foot of the bed, she opened her eyes, and seemed for a moment to look at him; a thrill of hope shot through him.