His heart was very full just then. A veritable agony of love was in his eyes as he looked at her. Passionate words were framed in his thoughts; rose to his lips and were choked back.
Except for that strained expression in his eyes, his face was calm as stone; the pallor likened it to marble. But the woman's head was bent; his suffering was unseen by her.
It pained him—her gratitude. He had done so little to deserve it. Indeed would have been a brute had he done less. No thanks were due to him; acceptance of them made him feel himself in a false position. But he could do nothing to restrain her—for fear of waking Gracie.
She moved a little away, glancing again at the sleeping child with a deep sigh of thankfulness. A slight movement of his head, a look in his eyes, beckoned her to come closer.
She understood. Noiselessly walked behind him; stood so, leaning over the bed rail. Her head was close to his, as he asked in an undertone:
"She should take it in two hours."
"She must."
He said that in a whisper, with a meaning glance at the child's flushed face.
"Will it be wise to awaken her?"