He lifted Len in his strong arms, and settled him more comfortably in the bedclothes. Then he gave him the sleeping-draught.
The window was wide open, and one could hear the rain pattering on the lilac bushes. The wind, sweet-smelling with damp and hay, puffed the curtains into the room, then sucked them back. A fire was burning low on the hearth. Janey went and sat beside it. Nigel sat by the bed, for between sleeping and waking his brother suffered from strange fears.
At last, after a few sighs and struggles, Len fell asleep, still high on his pillows, the lines of his face very tired and grim. There was a little light in the room, or rather the mingled lights of a dying fire and a fighting moon. Nigel rose softly, and went over to Janet.
"You must go to bed."
"No—I'd rather stay here."
"You must have some sleep, or you'll be worn out."
"I couldn't sleep."
The words broke from her in a strangling sigh, and the next minute his arm crept round her, for he remembered Leonard's words.
"Dear Janey ..." he whispered.
She began to cry.