"Not unless you think it necessary," she replied. "I am not afraid; believe me, I am not afraid." And so he left her alone with her patient.
The girl fell into an uneasy sleep and Mrs. Thorpe drew a chair to her bedside and sat beside her. And watching by this erring girl who had been so often in her thoughts, Mrs. Thorpe realized how small had been the measure of her faith; for she had not dared to believe that the opportunity to repay Margaret for the wrong she had done her would ever come to her.
After a time Margaret fell into a deep slumber, and Mrs. Thorpe left her and sought her rest. The next morning she found her tossing restlessly on her pillows. Her eyes, wide open now, were staring and bloodshot; the blood was leaping wildly through her veins and fever burned in her face. She laid her hand on the girl's forehead.
"Margaret," she said, "my poor Margaret."
A wild laugh greeted her, then a moan and a cry of pain. Mrs. Thorpe talked to her and soothed her as best she could, and when she grew quieter she prepared a plate of tempting food for her and brewed a cup of coffee to a deep, rich brown and flavored it with the cream she had reserved for her own morning beverage.
During the day Dr. Eldrige called in and inquired about her.
"You are doing all there is to be done for her," he said to Mrs. Thorpe. "Stimulating food and good care are all that she needs. If you could keep her with you--if she could be kept away from her temptations--there is good in the girl, Mrs. Thorpe, or at least there once was good in her."
Mrs. Thorpe looked at him with her eyes misty, unfathomable.
"No one understands the truth of what you say better than I do, Dr. Eldrige; I shall keep her with me--always, perhaps."
As the day wore away and evening came on, Margaret began to realize her condition and she recognized Mrs. Thorpe.