Some minutes passed in silence. The patient lay mute and passive in the trembling arms, on the throbbing bosom of the nurse.
"I am better now," whispered Caroline at last, "much better. I feel where I am. This is Mrs. Pryor near me. I was dreaming. I talk when I wake up from dreams; people often do in illness. How fast your heart beats, ma'am! Do not be afraid."
"It is not fear, child—only a little anxiety, which will pass. I have brought you some tea, Cary. Your uncle made it himself. You know he says he can make a better cup of tea than any housewife can. Taste it. He is concerned to hear that you eat so little; he would be glad if you had a better appetite."
"I am thirsty. Let me drink."
She drank eagerly.
"What o'clock is it, ma'am?" she asked.
"Past nine."
"Not later? Oh! I have yet a long night before me. But the tea has made me strong. I will sit up."
Mrs. Pryor raised her, and arranged her pillows.
"Thank Heaven! I am not always equally miserable, and ill, and hopeless. The afternoon has been bad since Hortense went; perhaps the evening may be better. It is a fine night, I think? The moon shines clear."