There came a day when he sat, wrapped in blankets, in an armchair near the window, where he could see the grass waving in the sunlight on the slope above the cottage, and the pines bending in the breeze high up the hill. Marion, near him, her hands folded in her lap, looked sometimes out of the window but more often at him, though his eyes avoided hers. She was scarcely less pale than he, and very tired and worn. Despite Hillyer’s protestations she had slept little in the ten days of Philip’s peril; for she would trust no one but herself to do with iron determination exactly what the 168 doctor had commanded. Philip’s pitiable pleading for water in his semi-delirium her love alone was strong enough to resist. But this was the last day of her watch over him. In an hour she must go. She had frankly asked Robert to let her have this last afternoon alone with Philip; and had promised him that he should then have the answer to every question that he had loyally put aside for her.
They sat a long time silent, while the shadow of the cottage lengthened on the grass.
“It wasn’t worth it, Miss Gaylord,” Haig said at length.
“I––I don’t understand,” she faltered.
“Doctor Norris tells me that you saved my life.”
“I’m glad if he thinks I helped a little,” she answered, trying to smile.
“He left me no room for doubt. Very plain-spoken is Doctor Norris.”
“I’m afraid he exaggerated,” she protested gently.
“No.”
“But Jim––”