The shadow of death.
It was past midnight when Mrs Lee entered the nursery again. Little Harry was on the bed, and his weary nurse was preparing to lie down beside him.
“He seems to be sleeping quietly,” said his mother, as she bent over him, “Yes, ma’am—much more quietly than he did last night. I think he will have a good night,” said Christie.
Mrs Lee seated herself on the side of the low bed, and listened to his quick, irregular breathing.
“I was beginning to hope that all the others might escape, now that Letty is so well,” she said; “but if Harry gets over it I shall be glad. It is always well that children should have these diseases while they are at home, if they must have them—poor darlings!”
She looked grave, and even sad as she spoke; but her face was not so pale, and she did not look so hopeless as she had done when the doctor was present.
“I feel quite rested and refreshed,” she said, after a few moments. “I have been asleep two or three hours. You had better go up-stairs and lie down awhile, and I will stay with Harry the rest of the night. You look very tired, Christie.”
“I was just going to lie down here,” said Christie. “Do you think you need to sit up, ma’am? He seems sleeping so quietly, and the least movement he can make will wake me. I can keep a light burning, and call you at any moment. I do not think you need to sit up.”
“I am afraid you will not rest much with him, if his least movement will wake you,” said Mrs Lee, doubtfully.
“Oh, I wake and sleep again very easily,” said Christie, cheerfully. “I am used to it now.”