Claude’s hands seemed to go naturally together, and she passed one over the other, while Sarah Woodham stood gazing intently at Gartram, and a curious shudder ran through her from time to time.
“But, Doctor Asher,” said Claude at last, “I do feel so helpless—so lonely. I—”
“Oh, come, come,” cried the doctor encouragingly; “don’t look at it so seriously. It is a heavy sleep, and may last for hours. I’ll stop for a bit, and then come in quite early in the morning. Perhaps it would be as well for somebody to sit up.”
Claude tried to speak, but she could not. She laid her hand upon the doctor’s arm, and stood, with her lip quivering, gazing down at her father till she could command her voice, and then she whispered huskily,—
“Don’t go.”
She could say no more, but stood looking appealingly in his eyes.
“You mean stay till he wakes?”
She nodded quickly.
“Oh, certainly, if you wish it; but I ought to tell you that I hardly think it necessary.”
“I do wish it,” said Claude. “Do not you. Mary?”