Then Miss Somerset had the good sense to draw back out of his sight, and order Polly to take her place by his side. Polly did so, and, some time afterward, at a fresh order, put a teaspoonful of brandy to his lips, which were still pale and even bluish.
The doctor returned, and brought his assistant. They put the patient to bed.
“His life is in no danger,” said he. “I wish I was as sure about his reason.”
At one o'clock in the morning, as Polly was snoring by the patient's bedside, a hand was laid on her shoulder. It was Rhoda.
“Go to bed, Polly: you are no use here.”
“You'd be sleepy if you worked as hard as I do.”
“Very likely,” said Rhoda, with a gentleness that struck Polly as very singular. “Good-night.”
Rhoda spent the night watching, and thinking harder than she had ever thought before.
Next morning, early, Polly came into the sick-room. There sat her sister watching the patient, out of sight.
“La, Rhoda! Have you sat there all night?”