"I can't, Sister." His eyes closed and opened again in a spasm of pain. "I—I want to feel someone near me," his voice was very weak, "to get hold of life again. Sister, sit beside me—for a moment, please."
She glanced at him irresolutely, smoothed the hair from his hot forehead with a cool hand, and then acceded to his request, seated herself on the chair by the bed.
"But you mustn't talk!" she warned him.
"I won't, Sister!" He was quiet for a moment. "Sister! I'm very bad, I know—but I'm not going to die! I won't die—I won't let myself die!" Despite his weakness, there was intense will-power in his tone.
"Hush, hush! Of course you are not going to die." Involuntarily, she laid her hand upon the bed as if to transfuse some of her own life-force into him.
He reached out a hand, grasped hers, resisted her attempt at withdrawal.
"Please!—please!" he murmured. "I want to hold on to life—there's so much——" His eyes closed sleepily. "I feel life flowing into me," he said. The grip on her hand was tight.
For a long time she sat thus, her hand clasped in his. Number Ten slept, with heavy breathing. It seemed to her that his fever diminished. She feared to withdraw herself lest she should awaken him. The long ward was deathly still.
Presently there was a noise of footsteps. An orderly approached, changing his gait to a clumsy tip-toe in obedience to her gesture.
"A telegram for you, Sister," he said.