The doctor took a silver quarter and held it to the woman’s nose for a minute, and then looked at it. A puzzled look came to his face, and he went back and sat down in the corner again.
“Was it discolored?” asked the Friar.
“No,” sez the doctor slowly; “but I am sure there is no life remaining. I have seen several cases of suspended animation, but nothin’ like this.”
“She lives, and the light is getting stronger,” said Olaf.
Kit took the handkerchief from her eyes which were still full o’ tears. She wiped them away, and looked first at the woman and then at Olaf, and then she gave a sigh. The Friar’s hands were opening and shutting. He had fought his fight out on the porch; but the suspense was beginnin’ to undermine him again.
I went back to the porch and stayed a while. When I went in again, they were all as I had left them; and after a few minutes I made my rounds, found everything all right, and came back. I went into the room several times, and just as I caught the first whiff o’ the dawn breeze, I went in once more, determined to coax the Friar to lie down and try to sleep.
They were still in the same positions. Not a line had changed in the woman’s face, the Friar was almost as white as she was but still stood at the foot o’ the bed lookin’ down at her; while the wrinkles on Olaf’s set face seemed carved in stone.
I had just put my hand on the Friar’s arm to get his attention when Olaf rose to his feet, pressed his hand to his blinkin’ eyes, and said wearily: “The blue color is givin’ way to pink. She will get well.”
“Don’t say it unless you’re sure!” cried the Friar, his voice like a sob.
For answer Olaf pointed down at the woman’s face. A faint color stole into her cheeks, and as we looked her eyes opened. The first thing they rested upon was the Friar’s face bent above her, and her lips parted in a wonderin’ smile—a smile which lighted her face like the mornin’ sun on ol’ Mount Savage, and made her beautiful, to me an’ to all who’ve ever seen her.