"I can't sleep," he said, in explanation, to Ester. "Some way I feel
worried. Does she seem worse to you?"

"Not a bit," Ester said, promptly. "I think she looks better than
usual."

"Yes," Mr. Vane answered, in an encouraged tone; "and she has been
quite bright all day; but the doctor is all down about her. He won't
say a single cheering word."

Ester's indignation grew upon her. "He might, at least, have let this
old man sleep in peace," she said, sharply, in her heart.

At twelve, precisely, the doctor returned. He went directly to the
bedside.

"How has she been?" he asked of Ester, in passing.

"Just as she is now." Ester's voice was not only dry, but sarcastic.

Mr. Vane scanned the doctor's face eagerly, but it was grave and sad.
Quiet reigned in the room. The two men at Florence's side neither
spoke nor stirred. Ester kept her seat across from them, and grew
every moment more sure that she was right, and more provoked. Suddenly
the silence was broken. Dr. Van Anden bent low over the sleeper, and
spoke in a gentle, anxious tone: "Florence." But she neither stirred
nor heeded. He spoke again: "Florence;" and the blue eyes unclosed
slowly and wearily. The doctor drew back quickly, and motioned her
father forward.