"Come in then, laddie, very softly. She's been talking day and night of her bairn; but you must, mind, let her have her sleep out. She lay awake the long night through."
Then Jeff was cautiously admitted.
Child as he was, he staggered a little at the aspect of the white still form extended on a berth. He drew his breath quickly for a few seconds as his eyes rested on the dear familiar face—familiar, and yet how altered!
The fine oval face had indeed fallen away sadly, and the soft golden hair waved away from a brow like marble. Deep dark lines beneath the closed eyes hollowed the cheeks and seemed to speak of pain and sleepless nights. Slow tears welled up to Jeff's eyes and fell silently one by one.
He turned to the woman and spoke in a whisper:
"She has been very ill? She never told me."
"Very ill," said the elderly matron curtly. It was difficult to restrain her own tears.
Then Jeff sat down quietly and remained half-hidden by the curtain that sheltered the sleeper. Presently the noise of trampling overhead seemed to rouse the invalid. She stirred and sighed without opening her eyes.
"Mrs. Parsons, will you ask if any letters or telegrams have come for me. I shall never get ashore without my friends. Surely someone will come." Again a long-drawn sigh.
Jeff's little brown hand stole round the curtain and very softly clasped the thin white fingers.