For about an hour she remained almost motionless by the bedside of the patient. During this interval one of the hospital nurses entered the room several times.
There was no change in the condition of the patient. But a change was to come.
The regular attendant had gone out after her fourth visit. The nurse suddenly rose and listened at the door. All was quiet.
She approached the patient stealthily, then paused and listened again. Not a sound broke the solemn quiet of this abode of the suffering.
The nurse drew back the bedclothing and looked intently at the bandage. Then she stretched out her hand, made a rapid motion and replaced the clothing.
Seating herself again beside the bed, the nurse waited quietly. Presently there was a change in the appearance of the white face on the pillow.
A flush tinged the cheeks and crept up toward the brow.
The patient, who had hitherto lain quiet as a statue, began to move restlessly and murmured in her swoon.
“Fever,” muttered the nurse. “Will she speak?”
Rising gently, the nurse laid her ear closely to the lips of the moaning woman. She could hear no articulate words.