Daylight itself was at the windows, suddenly chilling the place. Philip shivered a little, feeling cold now and very hungry. The arm that held Margaret was cramped and aching and very gently he tried to move it. She stirred, turned her head, and he saw that her eyes were wide open though still vague with sleep. Something caught at his heart as he stared down at her face, for she looked different, at once dreamy and curiously fragile, yet he remembered her looking like that once before. Was it when Betty was born?
For some little time she remained like that, and neither stirred again nor spoke. He leaned forward and watched her eyes clear themselves of sleep and then slowly move this way and that, up to his face, towards the windows. ‘It’s nearly daylight,’ she said at last, very softly.
‘Yes, it’s dawn,’ he told her. ‘I’ve been watching it arrive.’ He saw her eyes close again and waited a moment. Then he added: ‘It’s been a long time coming.’
Her only reply was a little murmuring sound from her closed lips. It seemed as if she were falling asleep again. The next moment, however, her eyes were wide open once more and looked up at him. ‘You’ve not been asleep, Phil, have you?’ she said.
‘Not yet. I suppose I’ve been thinking in a numbed sort of fashion. I must say I’m tired.’
‘You look tired,’ she whispered. ‘Try to go to sleep. Don’t bother about anything any more.’ Her eyes closed again, but she raised her head a little and he bent forward and kissed her, very gently.
Now holding her lightly at arms length, he half raised himself from the chair and gingerly tried his legs. ‘I’m horribly cramped,’ he said softly. ‘You must be too. Try this big chair while I work this stiffness off.’ She nodded, and he moved to one side and helped her into the arm-chair.
Is Gladys asleep?’ she whispered.
‘Yes; she’s never moved.’
‘I’m glad. We mustn’t waken her.’ She sank back and he bent over her and seemed to see her eyes cloud over with sleep again.