“I can only—try.”
Her two hands clung to his.
“That’s not enough! Frank—I’d die now if I thought I was going to cause you to fail. You must appear—you must make good. You must do the best work of your career. After all, that will be serving me too, darling. You’ll be giving me the thing I want—your name the greatest on the American stage. No matter what happens, Frank—no matter what—”
The nurse moved quickly to the bedside.
“I can’t let Mr. Moore stay if you excite yourself. Take this—and please lie quiet for awhile.”
“You won’t make him go?”
“Not if you do as I say.”
She took the powder and, closing her hands round his to reassure herself, settled back on the pillow. He remained in his cramped position, half kneeling, half lying beside her, filling his eyes with her, listening for every faint even breath that told him sleep had once more laid relaxing fingers upon her. Like a miser counting gold, he counted the minutes that gave them to each other, the minutes before the master she said he must obey claimed him. He heard those minutes being ticked away by the clock in the adjoining room with a terror that laid cold hands on his heart. The day must not go! It must not escape them so quickly!
Once more he put his head down beside the pale gold one. For a long time neither moved. Then the faint [233] ]grip of her fingers loosened, dropped away. But his arms stayed about her, numbed and tense.
She awoke and lay smiling into his eyes, but neither made attempt to speak. Sometimes he whispered her name. Sometimes she murmured his. All the words that could have been spoken—all that he wanted to pour out—all that he felt—choked him. But the futility of trying to express it and the fear of weakening her held him silent. Theirs was a communion deeper than speech.