Then they were silent; a faint ray of hope had fallen on them—almost adding a pang—for it was not possible—no, not possible!
“Keep her well covered,” said the doctor, in the short imperious tone of a pilot steering a life-boat; and then, unable to contain himself, he swore a mighty oath. Six hands covered Monina closely.
Leon and Pepa looked at Moreno. But they dared ask no questions; it was better to be in suspense, which is a kind of hope, and the doctor’s face revealed nothing beyond a reprieve of immediate fear.
“She is still perspiring?”
“Yes.”
“Still?”
“Yes—rather more.”
And they watched the almost imperceptible moisture on the delicate skin as if the existence of the universe depended on it.
“But is it not a favourable symptom?” Leon said at last.