Lydia had risen, and she tottered as she took a step or two, when the nurse caught her in her arms, and the poor girl’s strength gave way entirely now.
The nurse’s confident words that Capel was getting better, robbed her of the last bond of self-control, and, as the woman tenderly supported her, and whispered a few soothing words, Lydia’s head went down on the nurse’s breast, and she burst into a low, passionate fit of hysterical tears.
“There, you’ll be better now,” whispered the nurse, as Lydia raised her piteous white face. “Now go and have a few hours’ sleep.”
Lydia nodded, recovered her self-command, and went to the bed, bent over and gazed earnestly in the patient’s face, and then left the room.
“Poor dear!” said the nurse, after a glance at the patient, “how she does love him! Ah, miss, how you made me jump!”
“Did I, nurse?” said Katrine. “I was obliged to come in gently. How is he?”
“Better, miss, I think.”
“That’s well. You look very tired, nurse.”
“Me, miss? Oh, dear, no.”
“But your strength ought to be saved for nights. I can’t watch at night—I get too sleepy; but I can now, and I’ll take your place.”