Theodore's only answer was to dip his hand again into cool water, and pass it gently over the burning temples; then he said:
"I think it would be well to lie still, Pliny. They do not need you below at present, and your head is very hot."
Pliny pushed feebly with his hand.
"Go away, Mallery, I can not endure the sight of you. It is all over, I say. I will never try again."
Very quietly and steadily went the firm, cool hand across his forehead, and the voice that answered him was quiet and firm.
"No, I shall not leave you, dear friend, and all is not over. You are going to try harder than ever before, and I am never going to give you up—never!"
Silence for a little, then Pliny said:
"Then don't leave me, Theodore, not for an instant, day or night—promise."
And Theodore, ignoring all the strangeness of his position, promised, and remained in the house, the watcher-guard and helper of more than Pliny.
Not for an instant did he lose sight of his friend; through all the trying ordeal of the following days he was constantly present. Even in Pliny's private interviews with his mother, Theodore hovered near, and his was the first face that Pliny met when he came to the door to issue any orders. It was Theodore's hand that held open the carriage door when the son came to follow his father to his final resting-place, and it was Theodore's arm that was linked in his when he walked down the hall on his return.