At ten, Miss Rose returned. She had not rested much, and was glad to get back to the bedside.
“Here is my telephone number, Miss Rose. You can get me very soon by calling me up. Watch her carefully, and if you see any change at all, send for me at once.”
“Do you think there may be a change tonight?” Miss Rose looked straight into his face to see just what he meant.
“Yes, Miss Rose, there may be, and I hope it will be for the better.”
“You hope?” Miss Rose held her breath a minute.
“Yes, let us hope. Hope does more than all the medicine in the world.”
The minutes crept along into hours, and midnight passed, while Miss Rose watched.
Clematis seemed restless, but she did not talk to herself any more.
Miss Rose held the glass to her lips now and then, but she did not drink.
When Miss Rose wiped her face with a cold, wet cloth, she smiled a faint little smile, as if she liked it. Then the look of pain would come again, as she turned restlessly.