the corner
where the other nurse had sat beside the shaded lamp. That should be
her place, too, but she could not bear to be so far from him.
Noiselessly she brought a chair to the bedside and sat down so that
she could look at his face. Since she had been in the room she had
felt something new and unexpected--the deep, womanly joy of being alone
to take care of the beloved one in the hour of his greatest need. She
would not have thought it possible that a ray of light could penetrate
her darkness, or that in her deep distress anything approaching in the
most distant degree to a sensation of peace and happiness could come
near her. Yet it was there and she knew it, and her heart rested. It
was an illusion, no doubt, a false dawn such as men see in the
tropics, only to be followed by a darker night; but while it lasted it
was the dawn for all that. It was a faint, sweet breath of happiness,
and every instinct of her heart told her that it was innocent. She
would have, been contented to watch over him thus, in his sleep, for
ever, seeing that he too was momentarily beyond suffering.

It seemed, indeed, as if it might be long before any change came; his
breathing was a little heavy, but was regular as that of a sleeping
animal; his colour was even and not very pale; his eyes were quite
shut and the eyelids did not quiver nor twitch. The tremendous drug
had brought perfect calm and rest after a shock that would have
temporarily shattered the nerves of the strongest man. Then, too,
there was nothing to be seen and there was nothing in the room to
suggest the terrible injury that was hidden under the white
coverlet--nothing but the lingering odour of iodoform, to which the nun
was so well used that she never noticed it.

Hour after hour she sat motionless on the chair, her eyes scarcely
ever turning from his face. He was so quiet that there was absolutely
nothing to be done; to smooth his pillow or to pass a gentle hand over
his forehead would have been to risk disturbing his perfect quiet, and
she felt not the slightest desire to do either. For a blessed space
she was able to put away the thought of the question which would be
asked when he wakened, and which he only could answer. It was not a
night of weary waiting nor of anxious watching; while its length
lasted, he was hers to watch, hers alone to take care of, and that was
so like happiness that the hours ran on too swiftly and she was
startled when she heard the cloc