Early in the evening Nurse Ives took the child in her arms and rocked him off to sleep. He was wide awake when she began and resisted her efforts.
“Don’t stare at me,” he said, beginning to shudder. “I don’t like it.”
She took no notice. She did not mean to mesmerize him again after to-night, but to-night she must do it. It was all important that he should remain absolutely quiet during Tarbot’s visit. She fixed her eyes on his face. Soon his bright dark eyes looked steadily into hers, and a curious look came into them. He closed them in a few moments, repose settled down over each feature, his breath came softly and gently. She carried him then into her little bedroom, put him in the bed which she had previously warmed, and, putting a nightlight in a distant corner, softly shut the door. He was mesmerized into a tranquil sleep, not in the least resembling the cataleptic state in which he was the night before. Nurse Ives now felt certain that the child would sleep undisturbed during Tarbot’s visit.
It was nine o’clock when Tarbot arrived. Nurse Ives was waiting for his step. If he lifted the little knocker on her door and sounded a rat-tat the child might awake. Accordingly, the nurse kept the door open. Once or twice she went out into the passage and looked over the banister. Tarbot’s steps would be distinctly heard upon the stone stairs, and it was necessary to bring him into the room as quietly as possible. He was a man who invariably kept his appointments to the minute. Nurse Ives was certain he would come about nine o’clock, and he verified her belief by arriving two minutes after the hour.
“Ha, nurse!” he said when he saw her. She had dressed herself for the occasion, and with great care. She had changed her nurse’s dress for one of blue velvet, of a deep rich tone of blue, the gift of a former patient. It suited the woman well, bringing out the best points in her face and figure. She wore ruffles of real lace round her throat and wrists; her hair she had managed to dress with skill, fluffing it out and making the most of it. Its redness now became a positive beauty.
Nurse Ives knew the necessity of striking while the iron was hot, and of making in every respect as good an effect as possible. Having attended to her own person and made it as attractive as she could, she next turned her attention to the little room, which now appeared almost pretty. The gas stove burned brightly, the atmosphere was warm, but not too warm. On the center table was a lamp with a rose-colored shade. The disfiguring gas, which always tries the prettiest face, was not lit. The light round the table was rosy. Nurse Ives sat in this warm glow; it softened her features, rendering them almost beautiful. She was very pale, but the rose light gave her just the right touch of color. The red mark on her forehead was hidden by the cunning way in which she had arranged her hair.