The dark filled the little room. Presently the nurse crept in with a shaded lamp and touched Norah’s shoulder.
“You could get up,” she whispered.
Norah shook her head, pointing to the thin fingers curled in her palm.
“I’m all right,” she murmured back.
They came and went in the room from time to time; the mother, holding her breath as she looked down at the quiet face; the nurse, with her keen, professional gaze; after a while the doctor stood for a long time behind her, not moving. Then he bent down to her.
“Sure you’re all right?”
Norah nodded. Presently he crept out; and soon the nurse came and sat down near the window.
“Mrs. Hunt has gone to sleep,” she whispered as she passed.
Norah was vaguely thankful for that. But nothing was very clear to her except Geoffrey’s face; neither the slow passing of the hours nor her own cramped position that gradually became pain. Geoffrey’s face, and the light breathing that grew harder and harder to bear. Fear came and knelt beside her in the stillness, and the night crept on.