Warner and the maid, Suzanne, lingered, looking on, thinking they might be needed.
But realizing presently that neither the Countess nor her patient was paying the slightest attention to them, they looked at each other very gravely and quietly walked out.
That night at dinner Sister Eila was absent.
Certain prescribed devotions made Sister Eila's attendance at any meal an uncertainty. The private chapel in the east wing had now become a retreat for her at intervals during the day; the kitchen knew her when Gray's broth was to be prepared; she gently directed the servants who had been setting up the hospital cots in the east wing, and she showed them how to equip the beds, how to place the tables, how to garnish the basins of running water with necessaries, where to pile towels, where to assemble the hospital stores which had arrived with the cots in cases and kegs and boxes.
Besides this she had not forgotten to give Gray his medicine and to change his bandages.
It had been a busy day for Sister Eila.
And now, in the little chapel whither she had crept on tired feet to her devotions, she had fallen asleep on her knees, the rosary still clinging to her fingers, her white-bonneted head resting against the pillar beside which she had knelt.
Warner, wandering at hazard after dinner, discovered her there and thought it best to awaken her.
As he touched her sleeve, she murmured drowsily:
"I have need of prayer, Mr. Halkett.... Let me pray—for us—both——"