“My dear!” faltered Marian.
“He has dropped asleep—such a sound, quiet sleep,” said Joan. “And Mr. Forest thinks he will be better when he wakes. Mr. Forest thinks the worst is over now. And he says you will have saved his life! I can never, never thank you enough! Mother, I shall always love you for this!”
Joan’s lips were pressed against Marian’s cheeks.
“Oh, my dear, it’s too much—too much!” sobbed Marian. “I didn’t think I was to have such comfort. It’s more than I deserve.”
* * * * * * *
The worst was over at last; not only the worst of this one attack, but the worst of George Rutherford’s long ill-health. The tide had reached its lowest ebb, and steady improvement began to set in.
Day by day strength came back to body and mind, as it had never yet come back since the railway accident which made an invalid of the strong and vigorous man.
“I think you have taken out a new lease of life,” Mr. Forest said one day. “We shall soon have you almost your old self again, Mr. Rutherford, thank God!”
“Yes, thank God!” echoed George.
“But you must get away for a change soon. Where will you go? Scotland?”