"I can't sleep," exclaimed the figure.
Ted turned stiffly. "Neither can I," he said. His feet seemed to tangle in the wet grass as he walked toward the house again.
"So long," said John Thomas hoarsely.
"So long," returned Theodore.
A restless sleep had just fallen on Theodore when there was a light rap on the door. "Come," said the nurse. "There is a change. Your mother has sent for you. As quiet as possible, please." The boy flung on his bath robe, and hurried into the hall. Beatrice had just come out from her room. The sister and brother clasped hands and went on together.
In Miss Billy's room the light had been turned very low. Dr. Howitt had gone. The family doctor stood near the window. Mr. Lee sat by the bedside with a look upon his worn face that the children had never seen. His wife was on her knees, with one of the pale hands clasped in her own, as though the mother's grasp would hold the child in spite of Death. A soft grey shadow seemed to have fallen over Miss Billy's face, and she lay in deep stupor.
The little group gathered around the bed, and waited. The minutes slowly passed, Miss Billy's small clock ticking them off with an intensity that was almost painful.
The grey light began to grow in the eastern window, and a soft breeze blew in from the lake. The glimmer of the lamp paled as the room grew lighter. Afar off a dog barked, and one of Mr. Hennesy's roosters heralded the coming of the new day. The first glow of red light had appeared in the sky, when Miss Billy moved slightly in the bed.
"Mother," she whispered. Then she opened her eyes wide, with a hint of the old-time smile. "Has the morning come?" she asked. "I've had bad dreams."