If we had been less engrossed, we should have felt quite elated over Fanny’s successful examination; but, as it was, we were glad to have her at home, without thinking much about it. So the days passed until the quivering life seemed to hang by a mere thread.
“If he can go through the next twelve hours!” said Dr. Hawley, in a low tone. “But there seems so little strength to him. I can’t realize that he has ever been such a rosy, rollicking boy as that Stuart; and yet I do not see why he should not have been. Well, we have done our best, Mrs. Whitcomb, and the good parson has prayed; so we must leave all the rest in God’s hands. Don’t let him sleep more than an hour at a time, and then give him a teaspoonful of this, out of the glass—remember.”
I didn’t want to go to bed. I crept up to the room, and Mrs. Whitcomb, and the other strange, uncertain presence, standing by the window and watching the great stars and the little flecks of silver cloud threading their way in and out like dainty ladies. I was so afraid of death, too! and yet I wanted to stay. I thought of Stephen’s perplexity concerning his brothers, and did not wonder at it now. I was sorry that I had been so ungracious that night; but I had made all the amends I could. And I prayed softly for the sick boy, that he might live to a better and less selfish life, that he might see and know the great things there are for men to do in the world.
Twelve. The old eight-day clock in the hall told it off in a solemn way, and went on ticking “forever, never,” and Mrs. Whitcomb breathed in her chair as if she were asleep; but in a moment she rose and gave the medicine.
“You had better lie down here on the couch, Rose. Here is a pillow.”
“No; I am not sleepy.” And crossing my arms on the window sill, I rested my chin on them, and watched the stars again.
One, two, three; and the summer night began to show signs of drowsiness. The stars grew dimmer, and there was a peculiar grayish duskiness in the heavens. Then a faint stirring in the east, a melting of the gray into rose and gold, a piping of birds in the leafy trees, and a strange tremulousness in all the air. I turned away from the window and glanced at the pallid face, put my fingers on the thin wrist. Had the resurrection of the morning reached him?
“O, Mrs. Whitcomb,” I exclaimed, “his pulse is stronger! I believe he will live. I am so thankful!”
“Now run to bed, dear. You have had your way, and sat up all night.”
I did fall asleep, and never woke until the breakfast bell rang. Dr. Hawley came in bright and early, and the verdict was favorable.