Bang! the big door slammed behind her. Like a snarling fang the lock bit into its catch.
"Yes, sir," said the White Linen Nurse. Even just to herself—all alone there in the big black hall, she was perfectly polite. "Y-e-s, sir," she repeated softly.
With a slightly sardonic grin on his face the Senior Surgeon resumed his pacing. Up and down,—round and round,—on and on and on!
At one o'clock in the dull, clammy chill of earliest morning he stopped long enough to light his hearthfire.
At two o'clock he stopped again to pile on a trifle more wood.
At three o'clock he dallied for an instant to close a window. The new day seemed strangely cold.
At four o'clock, dawn the wonder,—the miracle,—the long despaired of,—quickened wanly across the East. Then suddenly,—more like a phosphorescent breeze than a glow, the pale, pale yellow sunshine came wafting through the green gloom of the garden. The vigil was over!
Stumbling out into the shadowy hall to greet the new day and the new beginning, the Senior Surgeon almost tripped and fell over the White Linen Nurse sitting all huddled up and drowsy-eyed in a little gray heap on his outer threshold. The sensation of stepping upon a human body is not a pleasant one. It smote the Senior Surgeon nauseously through the nerves of his stomach.
"What are you doing here?" he fairly screamed at her.
"Just keeping you company, sir," yawned the White Linen Nurse. Before her hand could reach her mouth again another great childish yawn overwhelmed her. "Just—watching with you, sir," she finished more or less inarticulately.