He lifted a
candle that Rod had left ready on the table and stole softly to
her bedside. She was sleeping like a child, but exhaustion showed
itself in every line of her face. He felt her hands and feet and
found the soapstone in the bed; saw the brandy bottle and the
remains of a cup of milk on the light-stand; noted the
handkerchief, still strong of camphor on the counterpane, and the
blanket spread carefully over her knees, and then turned
approvingly to meet Rod stealing into the room on tiptoe, his
eyes big with fear.
"We won't wake her, Rod. I'll watch a while, then sleep on the
sitting-room lounge."
"Let me watch, Ivory! I'd feel better if you'd let me, honest I
would!"
The boy's face was drawn with anxiety. Ivory's attention was
attracted by the wistful eyes and the beauty of the forehead
under the dark hair. He seemed something more than the child of
yesterday--a care and responsibility and expense, for all his
loving obedience; he seemed all at once different to-night;
older, more dependable, more trustworthy; in fact, a positive
comfort and help in time of trouble.
"I did the best I knew how; was anything wrong?" asked the boy,
as Ivory stood regarding him with a friendly smile.
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