Her heart almost ceased for a moment; he moved, opened his eyes, and lay looking at her, his lids still heavy with sleep.
"You are horribly tired—aren't you?" she faltered, looking into his worn face which two days' lack of sleep had made haggard.
He nodded, watching her.
"I'll move across the way and let you stretch out," he said.
"No—you need not."
"You look dead tired."
"I couldn't sleep that way. You—need not—move."
He nodded; his eyes closed. After he had been asleep a little while, watching him, she wondered what he might be dreaming, for a ghost of a smile edged his lips.
Then, sleeping, his arm moved, encircled her, drew her shoulder against his. And she found herself yielding, guided, relaxing, assenting, until her cheek lay against his shoulder, resting there. And after a while her eyes closed.
The fuel had given out. After a little while the last spark died. And she slept.