"They will be too late." He said it quite gently, laying his hand upon my knee. I could see him watching me narrowly.
"Go back to her, my boy. I mustn't keep you." He got up and walked down the steps.
In the tent I found Helen just waking up.
"It was—a—beautiful—Christmas—Ted. Why—Ted—I'm awfully—weak."
I gave her a sip of brandy; the doctor had authorized it. Miss Brock came to the tent.
"Will you leave us please?" I asked. "Stay within call with the baby."
Helen was dozing again and did not hear what I said. I put her on her bed and slipped off her dressing gown, tucking her in for the night. The sun was just setting, and the first chill of the California night air sent shivers through me. I put on a heavy overcoat and set my chair beside her bed to wait.
All night I sat there, holding one of her hands. Now and then Miss Brock, with a flash-lamp, came out from the bungalow. I sent her back each time. Helen seemed to sleep quite peacefully. Only once did a fit of coughing rouse her. It was about seven when she opened her eyes and smiled at me.
"I think I'll be able to get up today, Ted," she said, so faintly, yet distinctly. I kissed her. She gave me her hand to hold. As she lay there looking at me with her grey eyes, I saw the expression in them change. Something had come into them that I did not know.
"Miss Brock!" I called.