"Is it never going to stop?"
"Yes, when you're stronger. Go back to bed and I'll come to you."
He went back. She slipped on her dressing-gown and came to him. She sat by his bed and put her hand on his forehead.
"There—it stops when you put your hand on."
"Yes. And you'll sleep."
Presently, to her joy, he slept.
She stood up and looked at him as he lay there in the white dawn. He was utterly innocent, utterly pathetic in his sleep, and beautiful. Sleep smoothed out his vexed face and brought back the likeness of the boy Colin, Jerrold's brother.
That morning a letter came to her from Jerrold. He wrote: "Don't worry too much about Col-Col. He'll be all right as long as you'll look after him."
She thought: "I wonder whether he remembers that he asked me to."
But she was glad he was not there to hear Colin scream.