Its mother stared
up with a quivering frown. The next moment her limbs contracted as from an
electric shock. There had come a faint wail from the other room.
And this went on for three days and nights. Again Roger lived as in a
dream. He saw haggard faces from time to time of doctors, nurses, servants.
He saw Allan now and then, his tall ungainly figure stooped, his features
gaunt, his strong wide jaw set like a vise, but his eyes kind and steady
still, his low voice reassuring. And Roger noticed John at times hobbling
quickly down a hall and stopping on his crutches before a closed door,
listening. Then these figures would recede, and it was as though he were
alone in the dark.
At last the nightmare ended. One afternoon as he sat in his study, Allan
came in slowly and dropped exhausted into a chair. He turned to Roger with
a smile.
"Safe now, I think," he said quietly.
Roger went to Deborah and found her asleep, her face at peace. He went to
his room and fell himself into a long dreamless slumber.
In the days which followed, again he sat at her bedside and together they
watched the child in her arms. So feeble still the small creature appeared
that they both spoke in whispers. But as little by little its strength
returned, Deborah too became herself. And though still jealously watchful
of its every movement, she had time for other thinking. She had talks with
her husband, not only about their baby but about his work and hers.
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