Miriam Carr’s place was by the sick man’s pillow all that afternoon and evening, and right through the weary night. I had been to Westmouth Street to say that she might not return, and at her wish had brought back from Harley Street one of the most eminent men in the profession, who held a consultation with Hallett’s doctor.
The great man endorsed all that had been done, and sent joy into every breast as he said that the crisis was past, but that on no account was the patient to be roused.
And all that night he slept, and on and on till about eight o’clock the next morning, Miss Carr never once leaving his side, or ceasing to watch with sleepless eyes for the slightest change.
I had gone softly into the room the next morning, just as he uttered a low sigh and opened his eyes.
“Ah, Antony,” he said in a low whisper, “I have had such a happy, happy dream! I dreamed that—Oh, God, I thank Thee—it was true!”
For just then there was a slight movement by his pillow, and the next moment his poor weary head was resting upon Miriam’s breast.