He was sitting beside the bed. The light was very dim. His hand was on my bandaged hand which was lying over the sheet.
"Dearest?"
"You're all right?"
"I'm well," he said, "and you will be much better in the morning. Close the dear eyes now, and sleep."
"You won't go away?"
"Never. Go to sleep, Mavis."
In the morning he was still there, sleeping, wrapped in his funny, fuzzy bathrobe, in a big chair close to the bed. His hand was still on mine.
I looked for a long minute at his tired face. One eyebrow was burned almost all off. There were marks of burns on his face. And he was smiling in his sleep.
I felt so rested, so very well, except for a languor and a weakness. My hands pained me. Both, I was amused to discover, were bandaged. There was a little burn on my arm.
Through water and fire—