And something in her she had not yet known came welling up, softening her eyes, her face, even the very pose of her young body—­the hidden passion of a motherliness, that yearned so to ‘kiss the place,’ to make him well, to nurse and tend, restore and comfort him.  And with all her might she watched the movements of those rounded arms under the blue sleeves—­how firm and exact they were, how soft and quiet and swift, bathing the dark head!  Then from beneath the bandage she caught sight suddenly of his eyes.  And her heart turned sick.  Oh, they were not quite closed!  As if he hadn’t life enough to close them!  She bit into her lip to stop a cry.  It was so terrible to see them without light.  Why did not that doctor come?  Over and over and over again within her the prayer turned:  Let him live!  Oh, let him live!

The blackbirds out in the orchard were tuning up for evening.  It seemed almost dreadful they should be able to sing like that.  All the world was going on just the same!  If he died, the world would have no more light for her than there was now in his poor eyes—­and yet it would go on the same!  How was that possible?  It was not possible, because she would die too!  She saw her aunt turn her head like a startled animal; some one was coming up the stairs!  It was the doctor, wiping his wet face—­a young man in gaiters.  How young—­dreadfully young!  No; there was a little gray at the sides of his hair!  What would he say?  And Nedda sat with hands tight clenched in her lap, motionless as a young crouching sphinx.  An interminable testing, and questioning, and answer!  Never smoked—­ never drank—­never been ill!  The blow—­ah, here!  Just here!  Concussion—­yes!  Then long staring into the eyes, the eyelids lifted between thumb and finger.  And at last (how could he talk so loud!  Yet it was a comfort too—­he would not talk like that if Derek were going to die!)—­Hair cut shorter—­ice—­watch him like a lynx!  This and that, if he came to.  Nothing else to be done.  And then those blessed words: 

“But don’t worry too much.  I think it’ll be all right.”  She could not help a little sigh escaping her clenched teeth.

The doctor was looking at her.  His eyes were nice.

“Sister?”

“Cousin.”

“Ah!  Well, I’ll get back now, and send you out some ice, at once.”

More talk outside the door.  Nedda, alone with her lover, crouched forward on her knees, and put her lips to his.  They were not so cold as his foot, and the first real hope and comfort came to her.  Watch him like a lynx—­wouldn’t she?  But how had it all happened?  And where was Sheila? and Uncle Tod?

Her aunt had come back and was stroking her shoulder.  There had been fighting in the barn at Marrow Farm.  They had arrested Sheila.  Derek had jumped down to rescue her and struck his head against a grindstone.  Her uncle had gone with Sheila.  They would watch, turn and turn about.  Nedda must go now and eat something, and get ready to take the watch from eight to midnight.