As he got stronger he would call out more and more cheerfully to
her through the open door, and ask her how she was getting on, and she
would struggle to call back laughing answers. It had been a mistake to
put them next to each other, and I blamed myself for having done so, but
it was too late to change then. All we could do was to beg her not to
exhaust herself, and to let us, when he called out, tell him she was
asleep. But the thought of not answering him or calling to him made her
so wretched that it seemed safer to let her have her way.
"Her one anxiety was that he should not know how weak she was. 'It will
worry him so,' she would say; 'he is such an old fidget over me. And I
_am_ getting stronger, slowly; ain't I, nurse?'
"One morning he called out to her, as usual, asking her how she was, and
she answered, though she had to wait for a few seconds to gather strength
to do so. He seemed to detect the effort, for he called back anxiously,
'Are you _sure_ you're all right, dear?'
"'Yes,' she replied, 'getting on famously. Why?'
"'I thought your voice sounded a little weak, dear,' he answered; 'don't
call out if it tries you.'
"Then for the first time she began to worry about herself--not for her
own sake, but because of him.
"'Do you think I _am_ getting weaker, nurse?' she asked me, fixing her
great eyes on me with a frightened look.
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