“And Miss Wakeley?”

“Knocked under yesterday, and she was fairly saturated with creolin night and morning.  I don’t know how it happened....  Well, God for us all.  Here he is—­that’s the point for us.”  He glanced toward the bed, and for the third time Lloyd looked at the patient.

Ferriss was in a quiet delirium, and, at intervals, from behind his lips, dry and brown and fissured, there came the sounds of low and indistinct muttering.  Barring a certain prominence of the cheek-bones, his face was not very wasted, but its skin was a strange, dusky pallor.  The cold pack was about his head like a sort of caricatured crown.

“Well,” repeated Pitts in a moment, “I’ve been waiting for you to come to get a little rest.  Was up all last night.  Suppose you take over charge.”

Lloyd nodded her head, removing her hat and gloves, making herself ready.  Pitts gave her some final directions, and left her alone in the sick-room.  For the moment there was nothing to do for the patient.  Lloyd put on her hospital slippers and moved silently about the room, preparing for the night, and making some few changes in the matter of light and ventilation.  Then for a while the medicine occupied her attention, and she was at some pains to carefully sort out the antiseptic and disinfectants from the drugs themselves.  These latter she arranged on a table by themselves—­studying the labels—­assuring herself of their uses.  Quinine for the regular morning and evening doses, sulphonal and trional for insomnia, ether for injections in case of anemia after hemorrhage, morphine for delirium, citrite of caffeine for weakness of the heart, tincture of valerian for the tympanites, bismuth to relieve nausea and vomiting, and the crushed ice wrapped in flannel cloths for the cold pack in the event of hyperpyrexia.

Later in the evening she took the temperature in the armpit, noted the condition of the pulse, and managed to get Ferriss—­still in his quiet, muttering delirium—­to drink a glass of peptonised milk.  She administered the quinine, reading the label, as was her custom, three times, once as she took it up, again as she measured the dose, and a last time as she returned the bottle to its place.  Everything she did, every minute change in Ferriss’s condition, she entered upon a chart, so that in the morning when Dr. Pitts should relieve her he could grasp the situation at a glance.

The night passed without any but the expected variations of the pulse and temperature, though toward daylight Lloyd could fancy that Ferriss, for a few moments, came out of his delirium and was conscious of his surroundings.  For a few seconds his eyes seemed to regain something of their intelligence, and his glance moved curiously about the room.  But Lloyd, sitting near the foot-board of the bed, turned her head from him.  It was not expedient that Ferriss should recognise her now.