It was past noon before I woke. Sarah looking very tired came in with some coffee and the assurance that Peter was out of all danger and was sleeping quietly with the fever broken.
"Oh, Sarah," I said, "you haven't had any sleep."
"Dr. Denton sent me to bed at five," she answered, "but he never took his own clothes off until about eight. I slept in the guest room, the other side of Peter's, and when I woke, about seven, again, I got some coffee for him from Norah. And he left me with Peter then, and went into his own room."
"Is he asleep now?" I asked getting out of bed.
"No, for I heard the water running in his bath, half an hour ago."
While I was dressing I heard Bill in Peter's room. Heard too, with what gratitude, Peter's own normal voice, weak but sane again.
I slipped on a frock hastily and went in to them. Of the two, I thought that Bill looked the worst, very white and drawn.
After luncheon when Wing had disappeared in the pantry, Bill told me that Peter had had a very close call.
"I don't like to blame anyone, of course," he said, with knitted brows, "but if Sarah didn't have sense enough—well, Silas has lived in Cuba long enough to have known that the heat yesterday was sufficient to knock out a strong man, much less a little boy, if he became over-tired."
"I'm afraid it was my fault," I answered, slowly, "Peter was riding all morning and romping all afternoon. And then I took him for a walk—"