At the moist pressure of Anne’s lips, a second shudder coursed through Alexis.
“No, no,” he pleaded hoarsely. “I must not awaken. I shall not awaken. I want to go on dreaming—dreaming forever.” His voice trailed into a husky murmur. Then ceased. His head fell back heavily upon the pillow.
Terror tugged at Anne’s heartstrings. She called into the other room for Miss Wilson.
“Oh come, quickly, I’m afraid he has fainted.”
Her sobbing cry brought the nurse in immediately. She bent over the bed, then turned a reassuring smile upon Anne.
“He is asleep,” she whispered, finger upon lips. “The best sleep he has had, poor young man, since I’ve been here. See, his forehead is moist. He will get well now. Aren’t you glad you stayed?” She looked at Anne meaningly.
Anne smiled back at her with quivering lips.
“But had we not better call up the doctor, just to be on the safe side?” she whispered, hesitant in spite of the woman’s evident confidence.
The nurse looked at her with condescension. She pursed her lips.
“Not at all, ma’am. Don’t worry. All Mr. Petrovskey needs now is sleep. No doctor could do as much for him. And it looks as if he’d sleep for hours now. Poor boy, he surely needs it.” Then noting Anne’s pallor and look of fatigue, “You look as if you needed it, too. Come right back to bed now and I’ll tuck you up. Shall I make you a cup of tea?”