"If she should become rational while I am here, and should see me, do you think my being here would have any beneficial effect upon her?" asked John.
"That is the opinion of her parents," replied Star.
"You appear to be pretty well worn out by your vigil, Miss Barton," said John, turning to her, sitting close by his side.
"I have been in this room ever since she took ill, or since you brought her here," answered Star.
"Haven't you taken any rest?" asked John, dubious about her statement.
"I lie down on the couch there sometimes," pointing to one in the room; "but I cannot sleep."
"I fear the trial will be too much for you, Miss Barton."
"Oh, it is no trial for me to sit here, where I can see her dear face all the time," responded Star, and then she burst into tears, and John could hardly restrain his own from flowing, through his deep sympathy for her in her simple faith.
Just then Edith turned her face toward them, and gazed wildly about with her pretty blue eyes rolling in their sockets. Then she threw one hand over the side of the bed. John lifted it up tenderly, and laid it back in place, and then it was that he became aware of how feverish she was. Edith mumbled something.
"She is making an effort to speak your name," said Star, who was now used to her strange fancyings, and could interpret almost any unintelligible word she spoke. Then bending over Edith, she said: "He is here, dear Edith."