“To see whether that restless sleep has quickened it.”
Norman scarcely let his father count for a moment, before he asked, “What o’clock is it?”
“A little after twelve.”
“What does make you stay up so late, papa?”
“I often do when my arm seems likely to keep me awake. Richard has done all I want.”
“Pray don’t stay here in the cold,” said Norman, with feverish impatience, as he turned upwards the cool side of his pillow. “Good-night!”
“No hurry,” said his father, still watching him.
“There’s nothing the matter,” repeated the boy.
“Do you often have such unquiet nights?”
“Oh, it does not signify. Good-night,” and he tried to look settled and comfortable.