"That's nice—I'll take a snooze. You won't mind if I keep my mouth open and snore?"
By the time the two doctors arrived, the girl in white with the wonderful eyes was seated by the bedside, and the sick girl who was so dangerously ill was in a light refreshing slumber. There were great drops of dew on her forehead. Maureen's little hands held hers and the power of Maureen's love was surrounding her.
The nurses, who had listened to the conversation between the two, had told the doctors what had occurred. They listened in untold amazement.
Dr. Halsted said, "We will make a slight examination without waking her, and the girl in white must stay by her side."
It was some hours later, long past dinner-time, when Maureen slipped out of the Infirmary and went for a moment to the Chamber of Peace. She was, in truth, deadly tired. She felt like one who had been dragged through a rushing torrent; she felt like one who, hitherto strong, was now strangely weak.
This was not to be wondered at, for she had given of the very essence of her life to the sick girl, and before she left her she had turned the scales for Daisy Mostyn towards this present life.
The worst was over, the girl would live. Maureen rang her bell. Immediately Mrs. Faithful, who had been on the watch all these hours, came to the child.
"Oh, my dear, wonderful little girl," she began.
"Don't praise me, please," said Maureen. "I think she's better; I think she'll live."
"Yes; the doctors are quite sure she'll live, darling, and you have done it."