Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/223

 seasons. A childlike longing for the familiar touch and voice, so dear in the years gone by, overwhelmed her. She felt like the panic-stricken little girl of thirty years ago—the child who had been calmed and cheered by a white hand and a soft, reassuring voice.

"I will be near you, dear, " repeated the doctor, sadly. "If she could be near me to day, she would pull me out of this condition I'm allowing myself to get into. Oh, for a moment with her here and now!"

She looked up almost expectantly, as if she had uttered the words of an incantation. The little clock ticked steadily on the mantel, the fire crackled on the hearth, and the wind of December sang its elfish song at the windows. That was all. She resolutely pulled herself together and rang the bell. Night had fallen, and lights were flashing from the windows of the neighboring houses.

"Bring me something to eat, and then I am going to bed," she said, when the maid appeared. "I must have a good night's sleep—if I can."

She seemed to have slept for a very short time, when she awoke with every sense alert. It was yet night, but through the large