"SHE SAT THERE LIKE A FIGURE OF GRIEF OUTLINED IN BLACK AGAINST THE MOONLIGHT ON THE GREAT WALL."
She said little in her delirium, and nothing that had any meaning for either of the women. Twice she tried to tear away the linen and lace from her throat.
"I wait!" she cried each time, and her eyes fixed themselves on the ceiling, while she held her breath.
The women could not tell what she was waiting for, and they soothed her as best they could. She seemed to doze after that, and when Marcello came back she knew him, and took his hand. He sent away the nurses and sat by the bedside, and she spoke to him in short sentences, faintly. He bent forward, near the pillow, to catch the words.
She was telling him what she had done last night.
"But you promised that I should find you here to-day!" Marcello said, with gentle reproach.
"Yes. I did not mean to break my word. But I thought he would do it. It seemed so easy."
Her voice was weak with the fever, and sank almost to a whisper. He stroked her hand affectionately, hoping that she would go to sleep; and so a long time passed. Then Kalmon came in with his friend the great doctor. They saw that she was not yet any better; the doctor ordered several things to be done and went away. Kalmon drew Marcello out of the room.
"You can do nothing," he said. "She has good care, and she is very strong. Go home and come back in the morning."