But no doubt, no hesitation--he told himself--no scruple.

To die that her mother might live was one thing.
To die--and so to die--merely that her mother's last hours might be sheltered and comforted, was another, and a thing unreasonable.
He must speak to her.

He would not hesitate to tell her what he thought.
But he did hesitate.

When she descended half an hour later, and paused at the foot of the stairs to assure herself that her passage downstairs had not roused her mother from sleep, the light fell on her listening face and tender eyes; and he read that in them which checked the words on his lips; that which, whether it were folly or wisdom--a wisdom higher than the serpent's, more perfect than the most accurate calculation of values and chances--drove for ever from his mind the thought that she would desert her charge.

He said not a word of what he had thought; the indignant reasoning, the hot, conclusive arguments fell from him and left him bare.