Mr. Gresley was touched, grateful.

“I don’t think I have always done them justice,” he actually said to Hester one day.  “They do seem to understand me a little better at last.  Walsh has never spoken to me since my sermon on Dissent, though I always make a point of being friendly to him, but to-day he stopped, and said he knew what trouble was, and how he had lost”—­Mr. Gresley’s voice faltered, “it is a long time ago—­but how, when he was about my age, he lost his eldest boy, and how he always remembered Regie in his prayers, and I must keep up a good heart.  We shook hands,” said Mr. Gresley.  “I sometimes think Walsh means well, and that he may be a good-hearted man, after all.”

Beneath the arrogance which a belief in Apostolic succession seems to induce in natures like Mr. Gresley’s, as mountain air induces asthma in certain lungs, the shaft of agonized anxiety had pierced to a thin layer of humility.  Hester knew that that layer was only momentarily disturbed, and that the old self would infallibly reassert itself; but the momentary glimpse drew her heart towards her brother.  He was conscious of it, and love almost grew between them as they watched by Regie’s bed.

At last, after an endless night, the little faltering feet came to the dividing of the ways, and hesitated.  The dawn fell gray on the watchful faces of the doctor and Hester, and on the dumb suspense of the poor father.  And with a sigh, as one who half knows he is making a life-long mistake, Regie settled himself against Hester’s shoulder and fell asleep.

The hours passed.  The light grew strong, and still Regie slept.  Doctor Brown put cushions behind Hester, and gave her food.  He looked anxiously at her.  “Can you manage?” he whispered later, when the sun was streaming in at the nursery window.  And she smiled back in scorn.  Could she manage?  What did he take her for?

At last Regie stretched himself and opened his eyes.  The doctor took him gently from Hester, gave him food, and laid him down.

“He is all right,” he said.  “He will sleep all day.”

Mr. Gresley, who had hardly stirred, hid his face in his hands.

“Don’t try to move, Miss Hester,” said Doctor Brown, gently.

Hester did not try.  She could not.  Her hands and face were rigid.  She looked at him in terror.  “I shall have to scream in another moment,” she whispered.

The old doctor picked her up, and carried her swiftly to her room, where
Fraeulein ministered to her.

At last he came down and found Mr. Gresley waiting for him at the foot of the stair.

“You are sure he is all right?” he asked.

“Sure.  Fraeulein is with, him.  He got the turn at dawn.”

“Thank God!”

“Well, I should say thank your sister, too.  She saved him.  I tell you, Gresley, neither you nor I could have sat all those hours without stirring, as she did.  She had cramp after the first hour.  She has a will of iron in that weak body of hers.”