The latter established herself in the sickroom in an arm-chair by the bedside. She had brought a book, but the night lamp did not give sufficient light for reading.
The invalid slept fitfully, tossing, moaning, and sighing in her sleep, and still more during her moments of wakefulness.
Mildred had never felt wider awake, so strangely, fearfully solemn it seemed to sit there alone, waiting the coming of the angel of death to one who shuddered and shrank at his approach. Again and again while the dying woman slept her watcher knelt by the bedside and poured out fervent though silent petitions on her behalf. And for Charlie too; for her thoughts were full of him as well, and oh! at that moment it seemed a small matter that they might never meet on earth, could she only have the blessed assurance that eternity would unite them in another and better world.
"What's that you're doing?" asked the patient, waking suddenly. "Oh, I'm in awful distress! Rub me with some of that liniment, won't you?"
Mildred complied, doing her best to give relief to the physical suffering, and crying mightily in her heart to the Great Physician for the healing of the sin-sick soul.
Oh, the distress and anguish in those hollow, sunken eyes, and expressed in every lineament of the wasted features!
The bony hand clutched wildly at Mildred's dress and drew her down close, while the pale lips gasped, "I'm dying, and I'm not prepared! But I can't think—I'm too weak. I must wait till I get stronger."
"Oh no, no! come now to Jesus! He waits with open arms to receive you," cried Mildred, the tears coursing fast down her cheeks. "He died to save you, and he is able and willing to save to the uttermost all who come to him. Come now."