Once she suggested getting a professional nurse to relieve him, but catching sight of Trevelyan's face she had stopped short.
"There! Forgive me," she said. "It is not that I don't trust you, or am ungrateful or believe that anyone else could do so well, but I am afraid for you."
"I'm all right," Trevelyan had answered shortly.
"You are unselfish; you are only thinking of us and of John. You are always thinking and doing for John."
"Don't!" he interrupted, and through the dimness of the room she could see that his face quivered, and she wondered.
"I could not get along without you," she went on. "None of us could, and it has been you who have pulled him through so far."
She looked toward the long, motionless figure on the bed.
"I shall pull him through to-night and to-morrow, and to-morrow again, and next week—until he is out of danger," said Trevleyan.
That was the day the two doctors had given Stewart up.
The crisis came and passed, and Stewart lived.