ort line to her
father. Ruth and Granny Marrable lodged a formal protest. But how glad
they were to have her there, on any terms!

She had really come prepared to stay the night; but until she could hear
how the land lay had not disclosed her valise. Tom, returning for
orders, deposited it in the front-room, and departed, leaving it to be
carefully examined by the dog, who could not disguise his interest in
leather.

The only obstacle to an arrangement for one of the three to be always
close at hand when the sleeper waked was the usual one. In such cases
everyone wants to be the sentinel on the first watch, and not on any
account to sleep. A dictator is needed, and Gwen assumed the office. Her
will was not to be disputed. She told Granny Marrable and Ruth to go to
bed or at least to go and lie down, and she would call one of them if it
was necessary. They looked at each other and obeyed. She herself could
lie down and sleep, if she chose, on the big bed beside the old lady,
and she might choose. The end would be gained. There would then be no
fear of old Maisie awakening alone in the dark, a prey to horrible
memories and apprehensions, this last one worst of all--this nightmare
son with his hideous gaol-bird past and his veiled threats for the
future. That was more important than the meat-jelly, beef-tea,
stimulants, what not? They would probably be refused. Still they were to
be reckoned with, and Ruth was within call to supply them.

In the darkness and the silence of the night, a solitary, discouraged
candle in a shade protesting feebly against the one, and every chance
sound that day would have ignored emphasizing the other, the stillness
of the figure on the bed became a mystery and an oppression. How Gwen
would have welcomed a recurrence of the faintest breath, to keep alive
her confidence that this was only sleep--sleep to be welcomed as the
surest herald of life and strength! How she longed to touch the
blue-veined wrist upon the coverlid, but once, just for a certainty of a
beating pulse, however faint! She dared not, even when a heavy avalanche
of melted snow from the eaves without, that made her start, left the
sleeper undisturbed; even when a sudden faggot in the fireplace,
responsive to the snowfall, broke and fell into the smouldering red
below, and crackled into flame without awakening her. For Gwen knew the
shrewd powers of a finger-touch to rouse the deepest sleeper. But she
was grateful for that ill