"He may come any minute," she persisted, drawing her chair close to the window, and peering wistfully out into the storm.
But a tired feeling, caused by the great excitement She had undergone that day, at length began to tell upon her, and her eyes drooped wearily in spite of her every effort to keep them open, and at last, little by little, they closed, and the long, dark, curling lashes, heavy with unshed tears, lay still upon the delicately rounded cheeks.
Margery Brown bent forward, watching her eagerly.
"Asleep at last," she muttered, rising from her seat and crossing the room with a stealthy, cat-like movement, until she reached Bernardine's side.
Bending over her, she laid her hand lightly on her shoulder.
Bernardine stirred uneasily, muttering something in her, sleep about "loving him so fondly," the last of the sentence ending in a troubled sigh.
"They used to tell me that I had the strange gift of being able to mesmerize people," she muttered. "We will see if I can do it now. I'll try it."
Standing before Bernardine, she made several passes with her hands before the closed eyelids. They trembled slightly, but did not open. Again and again those hands waved to and fro before Bernardine with the slowness and regularity of a pendulum.
"Ah, ha!" she muttered at length under her breath, "she sleeps sound enough now."
She laid her hand heavily on Bernardine's breast. The gentle breathing did not abate, and with a slow movement the hand slid down to the pocket of her dress, fumbled about the folds for a moment, then reappeared, tightly clutching the well-filled wallet.