"It was more fatigue than cold." His voice had roused her, she sat up. "Oh, I ought to be doing something—trying—"
"You can do no more now; you must have some coffee, and then you must go to bed. But, in the mean while, I will do everything possible."
"But you don't believe—I don't know what you believe!" She rose.
He put her back in her chair. "I will believe nothing if you will go and rest—I mean my beliefs shall not interfere with my actions; I will simply do everything I can—all I should do if I were sure he was lost, somewhere about here."
She remained where he had placed her. After a while she said, "I was so certain he was in the swamp!" Her tired eyes, beginning to glisten a little with tears, had a childlike look as she raised them to his.
Old Rose now came hurrying in with the coffee, its fragrant aroma filled the room. Winthrop poured it out himself, and made Margaret swallow it, spoonful by spoonful, until the cup was empty.
"You have a little color now," he said.
She put the cup down, and rose.
"You're going? Yes, go; go to bed, and sleep as long as you can, it must be near dawn. I will meet you here for a late breakfast at eleven."
She still stood there. "But will you—will you really——"