“I folded the shawl, arranged the rug over her knees, and took the seat beside her.  She thanked me, laid her cheek upon the impromptu pillow, and closed her eyes.  The train sped on, the carriage swaying as we rounded the curves, the jolting increasing as we neared the great tunnel.  Settling myself in my seat, I drew my traveling-cap well down so that its shadow from the overhead light would conceal my eyes, and watched her unobserved.  For half an hour I followed every line in her face, with its delicate nostrils, finely cut nose, white temples with their blue veins, and the beautiful hair glistening in the half-shaded light, the long lashes resting, tired out, upon her cheek.  Soon I noticed at irregular intervals a nervous twitching pass over her face; the brow would knit and relax wearily, the mouth droop.  These indications of extreme exhaustion occurred constantly, and alarmed me.  Unchecked, they would result in an alarming form of nervous prostration.  A sudden lurch dislodged the pillow.

“‘Have you slept?’ I asked.

“‘I do not know.  A little, I think.  The car shakes so.’

“‘My dear lady,’ I said, laying my hand on hers,—­she started, but did not move her own,—­’it is absolutely necessary that you sleep, and at once.  What your nervous strain has been, I know not; but my training tells me that it has been excessive, and still is.  Its continuance is dangerous.  This road gets rougher as the night passes.  If you will rest your head upon my shoulder, I can hold you so that you will go to sleep.’

“Her face flushed, and she recovered her hand quickly.

“’You forget, sir, that’—­

“’No, no; I forget nothing.  I remember everything; that I am a stranger, that you are ill, that you are rapidly growing worse, that, knowing as I do your condition, I cannot sit here and not help you.  It would be brutal.’

“Her lips quivered, and her eyes filled.  ‘I believe you,’ she said.  Then, turning quickly with an anxious look, ‘But it will tire you.’

“‘No; I have held my mother that way for hours at a time.’

“She put out her hand, laid it gently on my wrist, looked into my face long and steadily, scanning every feature, as if reassuring herself, then laid her cheek upon my shoulder, and fell asleep.

* * * * *

“When the rising sun burst behind a mountain-crag, and, at a turn in the road, fell full upon her face, she awoke with a start, and looked about bewildered.  Then her mind cleared.

“’How good you have been.  You have not moved all night so I might rest.  I awoke once frightened, but your hands were folded in your lap.’

“With this her whole manner changed.  All the haughty reserve was gone; all the cynicism, the distrust, and suspicion.  She became as gentle and tender as an anxious mother, begging me to go to sleep at once.  She would see that no one disturbed me.  It was cruel that I was so exhausted.