Mrs. Varian smiled with transient bitterness, but made no reply to the frank compliment, only showing her appreciation of it by simple, unaffected kindness to the grieving sister.
The night and the day wore away, and in the early dusk of the December eve Everard Dawn suddenly opened his eyes with full consciousness in them, and met the eager glance of large, dark, sorrowful orbs.
“Oh, Everard, it is I—Paulina! Do you know me?” she murmured, prayerfully.
In a broken whisper, he answered:
“I know you.”
Then his eyes closed again, and with a stifled sob, Mrs. Varian sent Janetta to tell the doctor.
He hastened to his side, delighted to find that his patient had rallied; but he whispered to the anxious watcher:
“I do not dare bid you hope anything from this. The case is most uncertain.”
She bowed her head in silence; but from that moment not a movement of the invalid passed unwatched.
He had recovered his consciousness, but the doctor saw in him as yet no certain chance of recovery. He was very still and quiet, speaking only when addressed, and lying always with half-closed eyes that seemed to notice nothing. At times they opened wider and followed Mrs. Varian’s movements about the room, but he did not permit her to surprise that scrutiny.