CHAPTER XVI.
THE NEW LIFE "There is now every hope," so wrote that cheerful lady, Mrs.Wilcox, "of dear Molly's complete recovery." This, translated from the language of optimism, meant that dear Molly's beauty was dead, but that Molly would live.
To live, indeed, was not what she had wanted.

Mrs.Nevill Tyson had made up her mind to die; and in the certain hope of death she had borne the dressing of her burns without a murmur.

Lying there, swathed in her bandages, life came back slowly and unwillingly to her aching nerves and thirsting veins; and the sense of life woke with a sting, as if her brain were bound tight, tight, and the pulse of thought beat thickly under the intolerable ligatures.

Then, when they told her she would live, she screamed and made as though she would tear the bandages from her head and throat.
"Take them off," she cried, "I won't have them.

You said I was going to die, and I want to die--I want to die--I tell you.