For we heard a little sob, and we didn't want to wake her. She had fallen asleep, and Anne and I were both cuddling her close to keep her warm.
'Is she waking?' I said, very low.
But Anne pinched my hand. The sob wasn't from Maud, it was from Serry. I must say I was rather glad. It was about time for her to sob and cry, I thought.
We waited on and on. After a bit I think Anne and Serry too got drowsy, and perhaps I did myself. Anyhow, I grew stupid, and as if I didn't care; but I was very cold too.
It seemed such a tremendous time. I heard a story not long ago of a man who got shut in somewhere—I think it was in the catacombs, or some place like that—who went through, as he thought, days of it. He grew terribly hungry, for one thing, and ate his candle, and was released just when he believed he was at the last gasp, and after all he'd only been there three hours! It did seem absurd, but I can quite believe it. He'd lost all sense of time, you see. Well, I suppose it was rather like that with us. I know, when at last we heard the clock strike, I was sure it was going on to twelve. I couldn't believe it was only nine!
'Anne,' I whispered, 'are you awake? How ever are we to wait here till to-morrow morning? It's only nine o'clock!'
'Nurse will be coming home soon then,' said Anne, hopefully; 'she'll never wait till to-morrow morning to find us.'
'I don't know,' I said. 'I can't make anything out. I think it's as if we were all dead and buried, and nobody cares.'
'Hush,' said a clear little voice; 'that's not good, Jack. God cares, always.'
'It was poor little Maudie, and again I heard the choky sob from Serena.