“I know, I know, my boy,” he said, and fell asleep again.
As the midnight hour drew on, Barry's head, from sheer weariness, sunk upon his breast. In his sleep he became aware of some one near him. He sat up, dazed and stupid from his exhaustion and his grief, and found a nurse at his side.
“Take this,” she said softly. “You will need it.” She set a tray at his side.
“Oh, thank you, no!” he said. “I can't eat. I can't touch anything.”
“You need it,” said the nurse. “You must take it, for his sake, you know. He will need you.”
Her voice aroused him. He glanced at her face.
“Oh, it's you!” he cried.
It was the little V. A. D.
“Don't rise,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder, and pointing to his father. “Drink this first.” She handed him an eggnog. “Now take your tea.” There was a quiet authority about her that compelled obedience. He ate in silence while she stood beside him. He was too weary and too sick at heart to talk, but he gradually became aware that the overpowering sense of loneliness that had been with him all day was gone.
When he had finished his slight meal, he whispered to her: