And Elfie sat down on a low stool at the foot of the bed and said not another word.
Miss Conyers took her place in the large easy chair beside the head of the bed, from which position she could easily watch the countenance of Erminie.
The clock struck three and the morning was coming on apace.
All was cool and quiet in the room; and another hour passed slowly by; and in the sweet light of the early dawn the night taper on the hearth burned dimly.
Miss Conyers arose and put it out. And then she went to the windows and opened them all to let in the light and air of the lovely summer morning.
Then she went to the bedside to examine the condition of her charge. And she saw a change that caused her heart to leap for joy! a change for the better, slight, but so decided that she knew the crisis had passed favorably—that physicians and friends had all really been mistaken—that youth and constitution had conquered, and that she, whom they had all called the “dying girl,” was about to recover.
True, Erminie lay as still as she had lain for twenty-four hours; but not as cold or death-like. Her face was calm; her flesh was soft, warm and moist; and her breathing was low, gentle and regular.
“Thank God, thank God!” breathed Britomarte, sinking on her knees to offer up this ovation of gratitude.
“What is it?” murmured Elfie.
“She will live!” joyfully exclaimed Britomarte, rising from her knees.