When Mrs. Ravenel and Katrine entered Frank's apartments they found Dr. Johnston by the window of the sitting-room, and, with no spoken word, Katrine knew he had been waiting for her to come. His face bespoke more than professional anxiety; it bore a look of sorrow and the dread of losing a dear friend.
According Katrine but a scant nod of recognition, he crossed to the door of the sleeping-room, and, after looking in, made a gesture, stealthy and cautious, for Katrine to enter.
The room was dark save for a night light. Frank's face was turned toward her, his eyes closed. One hand, helpless, unutterably appealing, lay outside the white cover, and at sight of him thus it seemed her heart would break.
With a swift movement she knelt beside the bed, waiting to take the poor, tired head upon her
breast. As her eyes grew accustomed to the light, she saw his lips tremble.
"Dear," she said.
There was silence, and then: "It is worth all—it is worth all—for this," he whispered. "Touch me, Katrine!"
And she laid her cheek on his.
"Katrine?"
"Yes, dear."