Margaret gripped the side of the bed. The doctor does not usually stay when the patient is better.
Suspense was in the air after that. Word was passed to the cabin that the crisis had come, and Uncle Tobe and his wife and Mammy Cely were having a prayer-meeting there.
At nine o'clock Philip was sleeping quietly and the doctor who had been up the night before went to bed. "Call me if there is any change," he said to the nurse, "and at twelve whether there is or not."
He advised Margaret to do the same, but she shook her head.
"Mr. De Jarnette," the nurse said in a low tone. "Hadn't you better lie down now. You may be needed later."
"It really isn't necessary," said Margaret.
She did not combat it. In her heart she was glad to have him there.
Through the long hours they sat thus, one on each side of Philip's bed. The nurse watching them could not but think how strange it all was.
Midnight and the doctor brought them hope.
"He is doing finely, nurse,--I couldn't ask anything better." Then to Margaret, who stood beside him, he said feelingly, ignoring Mr. De Jarnette, "God is more merciful than man, my child. He has given you back your--why, my dear!"--for Margaret was clinging to him weak and nerveless, her head on his fatherly shoulder--"there! there!--here, nurse, look after her. She is all unstrung."
"It is sleep she needs," the nurse said, "and no wonder." And Margaret allowed herself to be led away.
"It beats everything the way these women do," grumbled the doctor. "You think they are wrought-iron till the danger is past, and then you find they are a bundle of nerves after all. I stumbled over that old negro woman of yours at the door--waiting for news, I suppose."
"Name er God, Marse Richard, how is he? I didn't dast to speak when I saw 'em takin' Miss Margaret off."
"Go to bed," said Richard, kindly. "The danger is past, the doctor says."
"We may as well go to bed and leave him to the nurse now," said the doctor, just behind him.
"I shall stay for awhile. Good-night, doctor."
When Margaret woke from that sleep of exhaustion the first faint streaks of daylight were in the sky. She had thrown herself on the bed, dressed as she was, and slept for hours. She started up and hurried to Philip's room. A wax taper was burning low. The nurse was not in sight and at first she thought the child was alone. She stepped quickly to the bed. Then as her eyes became accustomed to the semi-gloom she saw a figure in the big arm-chair.