"I don't know, but I seem to feel it in my bones. She's most well.... She's well all through."
And she left him standing there, a glad light in his eyes, while she went down the corridor to the man waiting in Room 20.
[XIV]
In Herman Medfield's room, the night-light was carefully shaded. Through the dimness one guessed rather than saw the figure lying straight on the high bed, motionless under the blanket, and the night nurse standing beside it. The nurse bent a little toward the figure and listened. Through the half-opened window a breeze came in, swaying the curtains, and the night-light cast reaching, moving shadows across the ceiling and along the bed.
The figure on the bed stirred a little and moaned, and the nurse spoke softly. There was no response—only an inarticulate sigh, and quickened breath for a moment, and rigid silence again. The nurse touched the clothes gently, straightening them, and returned to her chair by the table. The light fell on her face, the fresh face with clear features and half-reddish hair gathered up under its white cap. She sat bending forward, her hands relaxed in her lap. The breeze from the window came in and mixed with the shadows and crept through the room toward the bed.
A thoroughly successful operation, Dr. Carmon had said. But he had been in twice since to look at the motionless figure, and the nurse sitting by the table had careful instructions to call him at any moment.... The operation had been a success, but who knew what subtle forces had been attacked, perhaps overthrown, in those sharp, fierce minutes in the operating-room while the knife was at work? Dr. Carmon knew that he could cut clean and quick and sure; he knew that he could follow a nerve almost as a dog follows a scent, without fear or flinching; but it was something within the nerves, the unseen, unguessed something—that was life itself—that might undo his work and leave him helpless.... He could only look at the silent figure and repeat again his careful instructions and go away and leave it to the power that no man understands, and no man can help or hinder.
The curtains moved in the breeze; and the nurse rose now and then as the night wore on and went to the bed and waited a minute and returned to her chair. Then some movement in the room—something unseen, drew her and she went again to the bed. She moved the light so that it fell, half-shaded, on the pillow, and bent forward and looked. Her hand sought the wrist under the blanket and held it a minute and she lifted her face and turned the light quickly away.