The fire burned brightly , and a few green plants were in blossom by the south window . Beside them sat a child of about seven years who turned a startled face at Telford 's reckless entrance . The boy had Min 's dark eyes and perfectly chiselled features , refined by suffering into cameo-like delicacy , and the silken hair fell in soft , waving masses about the spiritual little face . By his side nestled a tiny dog , with satin ears and paws fringed as with ravelled silk . Telford paid heed to nothing , not even the frightened child . He was as one distraught . `` Min , '' he wailed again , striving tremblingly to feel her pulse while cold drops came out on his forehead . Min 's face was as pallid as marble , save for one heavy bruise across the cheek and a cruel cut at the edge of the dark hair , from which the blood trickled down on the pillow . She opened her eyes wonderingly at his call , looking up with a dazed , appealing expression of pain and dread . A low moan broke from her white lips . Telford sprang to his feet in a tumult of quivering joy . `` Min , dear , '' he said gently , `` you have been hurt -- not seriously , I hope . I must leave you for a minute while I run for help -- I will not be long . '' `` Come back , '' said Min in a low but distinct tone . He paused impatiently . `` It is of no use to get help , '' Min went on calmly . `` I 'm dying -- I know it . Oh , my God ! '' She pressed her hand to her side and writhed . Telford turned desperately to the door .
XXXXX raised her arm .
Min Telford eyes fire help minute pulse tone tumult years