He stirred a little in the first uneasiness of coming delirium, and she laid her hand on his and he grew still again.
Mary Compton came in presently. With Mrs. Smithers, she had been preparing a special fever antidote of her own, and there was an air of resolve about her neat, kimono-clad figure which made death seem afar off. She came lightly up to the bedside, stirring the contents of a malicious-looking medicine glass.
"Now, if we can only get him to take a few drops, they will help to keep him quiet. Of course, we don't know what in the world's the matter with him. It may be the ghastly thing they had in Bjura; but I don't think so. He wouldn't have come back. Are you afraid?" She glanced down at her companion, and Sigrid met her close scrutiny deliberately.
"No."
"Well, you've been crying, anyhow."
"That's possible."
"What for?"
Sigrid's lips were twisted with a wry smile.
"I don't know—I was touched about something, I suppose. I think it was because I never thanked him for something he gave me—I never gave him anything to take with him when he went out there—I've just remembered."
"H'm! How many times have you two met?"