She spoke with her eyes closed, the restful look intensifying as the time glided on.
After a while the woman who had acted as nurse announced the coming of the doctor, who brightened and looked pleased as he saw the change.
“Yes,” he said; “the fever has left her. Now we must build her up again.”
And after satisfying himself about his patient’s state, he beckoned Miss Burge from the room, and gave the fullest instructions as to the course to be pursued, promised to come in again that evening, and went away.
The day glided on, and William Forth Burge kept his place by the bedside, feeling that it was his by right; and then, at times, suffering from a terrible depression, as he told himself that he ought to go, and not presume upon the weakness of one who was in his charge. Hazel lay with her eyes half-closed, apparently in a restful, dreamy state, rousing herself a little when her tender nurse administered to her food or medicine, and then turning her eyes for a few moments to the occupant of the chair by the bedside, smiling at him sadly, afterwards, with a restful sigh, letting her cheek lie against his hand.
“I should like to have seen my little sisters,” she said once softly, “and my poor mother; but it would be cruel to bring them here. I should like to kiss poor Ophelia too.” She laughed faintly here, as if amused. “Poor child!—so good at heart. Poor child!”
There was another long interval of genuine sleep now, which lasted until evening, when Hazel awoke with a frightened start crying out painfully.
“What is it, my pet?” whispered little Miss Burge, bending over the bed, and parting the hair from Hazel’s hot wet brow. “There—there; you’re better now.”
The light of recognition came, and she darted a swift, clear look at the speaker, then turned excitedly to the bedside where William Forth Burge still sat holding her hand.
The peaceful smile came back as she saw him there, and she began speaking in a quick, excited way:—