“She will be saved, you think?” He seemed to be anxious and serious. Had not this man with his cruelty almost murdered the woman who was as yet lying at death’s door? It cost Imelda an effort to be civil.
“I believe so,” she answered. “According to the doctor’s statement if she should safely pass this night there is every hope of her recovery.”
For several moments he did not answer, then—“Thank you,” and ere Imelda was aware of his intention he had taken her hand and lifting it he quickly touched it with his lips. With a hasty movement she withdrew her hand, but before she could speak he had said “Goodnight,” and swiftly walking away left her standing there alone.
Imelda stood looking at the hand he had kissed, and then with an unconscious movement drew her handkerchief across the spot his lips had touched. She shuddered. What did it mean? Without waiting to answer her own question she turned and hastily sought her room. She was tired, O, so tired. Never since Alice had been tossing in the fever had she known what it was to sleep a whole night through. Snatching an hour, or two at most, always ready at a moment’s notice to return to her post at the side of the sick one, she had scarce found time to eat or catch a breath of fresh air,—and now it was three o’clock in the morning. O, how tempting looked the snowy draped bed. She felt as if she could sink into its soft embrace, never to rise again. The night was already well advanced; two or three hours at most was all she expected to sleep. The faithful nurse was just as much in need of rest as herself. A moment she hesitated. Should she risk it? The nurse was positive that for the rest of the night Alice would sleep. She no longer hesitated, but hastily disrobing and donning a snowy nightdress, scarce had her head touched the pillow when she was already unconscious and in the land of dreams.
CHAPTER XXIII.
For the first time Imelda’s mind was free. She had left Alice sleeping. Not in a dull, feverish stupor, constantly interrupted with delirious mutterings but sleeping, actually and really sleeping. And although her breathing was only a gentle fluttering, it was so weak, it was a quiet sleep, and she knew that for a few hours, at least, she could safely trust her to the faithful nurse. So Imelda slept the sleep of the just.
When the morning sunlight streamed through the open window, flooding the room with its bright glory, a servant had softly entered and with deft fingers closed the shutters, darkening the room so that the slumbers of the completely exhausted girl might not be disturbed; the nurse meanwhile remaining faithful and true to her trust. Now and then a maid softly opened the door to listen, but Imelda slept on, and when the doctor came he gave the order to let her sleep by all means, until she should awake of herself. So the hours of the day passed and the evening shades were falling ere that death-like sleep was lifted and Imelda opened her eyes. The deep hush and darkness that prevailed left her for a long time in semi-unconsciousness, a delicious drowsiness folding her in its power, but by and by it passed away, leaving her brain more clear, and presently, all in an instant, she knew and remembered.
But how long had she slept? It was three o’clock when she sought her bed and only two hours before the morning light would appear. It was still dark, yet she did not feel as if she had slept only a short time, but rather had the sensation of having slept a long while, she was so wide awake, and—yes! she was hungry, very hungry. She reached out her hand for her watch, which she remembered having placed upon the stand near the bedside. It was there, but when she placed it to her ear she made the discovery that it had stopped. Then she struck a light, having a lucifer always within reach. By the flickering flame she saw that her watch had stopped at twenty minutes of two. A puzzled look overspread her face. What did it mean? Just then she thought she heard a footstep outside her door; the next instant the door was softly opened.
“Who is there?” she hastily inquired, her heart giving a bound, as she was not in the habit of leaving her door unlocked. Could she have forgotten it? A soft laugh answered her.
“Is it you, Mary?” she asked, recognizing the voice.