Miriam Ward opened the window a little further and looked out. It was nearly midnight and the cold, raw breeze was an agreeable contrast to the atmosphere of the sick room. Mrs. Nash’s preparations for the night were long-drawn-out and Miriam had found her at her worst. In turn she waxed dictatorial, fault-finding and fretful, and Miriam’s stock of patience was severely taxed. It seemed an interminable time before Mrs. Nash finally closed her eyes with the avowed intention of taking “forty winks,” and the imperative command that she be awakened the moment her husband returned.
Miriam made herself as comfortable as possible on the window seat, having carried a sofa pillow with her, and pulling her sweater more closely over her shoulders, she leaned her head against the wooden sash and stared out into the night. The stars were out and the moonlight added beauty to the grounds. It all appeared so calm and peaceful, so utterly different from the last four hectic days. Miriam sighed involuntarily and closed her eyes. When she opened them a few minutes later she saw the powerful headlights of a car coming along the turnpike. A second later it had swung into the driveway and Miriam recognized the Rolls-Royce. The front door was toward the other side of the house, and Miriam lost sight of the car as it circled the approach to the porte cochère. Undoubtedly Doctor Nash had returned.
Miriam’s expression hardened. Her outspoken, frank disposition made it next to impossible for her to cloak her aversion even under the ordinary courtesies of the sick room. She was commencing to loathe Doctor Nash; while wondering dimly why two such opposite natures as Dora Carter and the clergyman had ever fallen in love with each other. Truly, the marriage market was but a lottery!
Leaving her position by the window, Miriam walked softly over to the bed. Her patient’s deep breathing assured her that Mrs. Nash was comfortably asleep and Miriam’s heart lightened; she would not have to summon Doctor Nash, for, in spite of his wife’s wishes, Miriam did not propose to awaken her. The closing of a door further down the hall with a resounding bang brought her hand to her heart and Mrs. Nash’s eyes unclosed in time to notice Miriam’s agitation.
“What was that noise?” she demanded. “What has happened to make you so pale?”
“Nothing—it’s the lamplight,” Miriam stammered a trifle incoherently. “A door slammed and startled me.”
Mrs. Nash rubbed her eyes and inspected her with interest. Miriam’s trig uniform was becoming.
“Nerves,” Mrs. Nash remarked caustically. “Have you seen Doctor Nash?”
“He has just returned and I believe is still downstairs,” responded Miriam. “But, Mrs. Nash, you should not see any one at this hour.”
“Tut! My nap has refreshed me, and besides, I am stronger, much stronger,” with emphasis, and she struggled into a sitting position. “Just throw that bed sacque over my shoulders and ask Doctor Nash to come here, there’s a good child!”