All my doubts and fears departed. After all, I was in Heaven; for Mary,—the Mary I so loved,—was bending over me, crooning to me, with her face so near, and placing her cooling, soothing hand on my hot brow.
I must have tried to speak, for, as if far away, I could hear her enjoining me not to talk, but just lie quiet and I would soon be well.
She put a spoon to my mouth and, sup by sup, something warm, good and reviving slowly found its way down my throat.
What hard work it was opening my lips! What a dreadful task it was to swallow and how heavy my feet and hands seemed!—so heavy, I could not lift them.
As the singing voice crooned and hushed me, I grew, oh! so weary of the labour of swallowing and breathing that I dropped away again into glorious slumberland.
When again I opened my eyes, it was evening. My reading lamp was burning dimly on a table, near by. The air was warm from a crackling fire in the stove. Some one was kneeling at my bedside.
I looked along the sheets that covered me.
It was Mary.
All I could see of her head were the coils of her golden hair, for she had my hand in both her own and her face was hidden on the bed-spread. I could hear her voice whispering softly. She was praying. She repeated my name ever so often. She was praying that I might be allowed to live.
From that moment I lived and grew stronger. But I dared not move in case I might disturb her.