Exhausted, Miss Hope sank back on her pillow, and suddenly the delirium left her.
“You’re very good to me, my dear,” she whispered weakly. “I think I’ll go to sleep.”
Betty watched her for a few minutes till her even breathing told that she really was asleep. Then she went in to see if Miss Charity had been disturbed. She was awake and beckoned for Betty to come nearer the bed.
“Was Faith here?” she whispered painfully. Betty had to put her ear down to her mouth to hear. “Has she come at last?”
Betty shook her head sorrowfully. She had hoped the sick woman’s voice had not reached her sister.
“Miss Hope had more fever,” she said compassionately. “She has gone to sleep now. If I bring you a little nice beef tea, don’t you think you might take a nap, too?”
The old lady was childishly pleased with the idea of something to eat again, and Betty fixed her tray daintily and toasted a cracker to go with the cup of really delicious home-made beef tea. Miss Charity drank every drop, and fifteen minutes later Betty had the satisfaction of seeing her go to sleep.
Bob was out on the back porch, whittling furiously, a sure sign that he was disturbed.
“They’re my aunts, all right,” he began, as soon as Betty appeared. “I couldn’t be quite sure, in spite of the name and the coincidences, but now I know it. Do you think I look like them, Betty?”
“You look an awful lot like Miss Hope,” said Betty. “You look like Miss Charity, too, but not nearly as much. Miss Hope has blue eyes, you see. You haven’t seen Miss Charity yet, but her eyes are black. I’m sure they are your aunts, Bob.”