“Has the nurse changed yet?”
“Yes. We made up the uniform from the old illustrated papers. Blue gown, white cap and a red cross on the arm.”
“We had better get into our things, too,” said Michael nervously.
“The blue serge suit is on your bed, and a collar and a tie. I found them in the oak chest. They must have been forgotten.”
“And you?”
“I will wear your Mother’s gown which she wore at your christening. She kept it all her life.”
A few minutes later Michael, uneasy in a serge suit which was too tight for him, and his wife in a short grey gown entered the sick room and sat down one on each side of the bed. The nurse, excited and self-conscious in her unfamiliar attire, withdrew to the window.
The old, old man on the bed stirred uneasily, and his white beard quivered. His wide eyes looked vacantly at his son, as they had looked at him all Michael’s life. Serena, with a hand that trembled a little, poured a few drops into a spoon, and put them into the half-open lips.
Then they held their breath and watched.