“She is very ill, but quieter than, she has been, and the fever is a little abating.  The most dangerous time will be when the fever leaves her.  The doctor fears she will not have strength enough to rally from it.  Yes, thee can see her.”

Mrs. Bolton led the way to the little chamber where Ruth lay.  “Oh,” said her mother, “if she were only in her cool and spacious room in our old home.  She says that seems like heaven.”

Mr. Bolton sat by Ruth’s bedside, and he rose and silently pressed Philip’s hand.  The room had but one window; that was wide open to admit the air, but the air that came in was hot and lifeless.  Upon the table stood a vase of flowers.  Ruth’s eyes were closed; her cheeks were flushed with fever, and she moved her head restlessly as if in pain.

“Ruth,” said her mother, bending over her, “Philip is here.”

Ruth’s eyes unclosed, there was a gleam of recognition in them, there was an attempt at a smile upon her face, and she tried to raise her thin hand, as Philip touched her forehead with his lips; and he heard her murmur,

“Dear Phil.”

There was nothing to be done but to watch and wait for the cruel fever to burn itself out.  Dr. Longstreet told Philip that the fever had undoubtedly been contracted in the hospital, but it was not malignant, and would be little dangerous if Ruth were not so worn down with work, or if she had a less delicate constitution.

“It is only her indomitable will that has kept her up for weeks.  And if that should leave her now, there will be no hope.  You can do more for her now, sir, than I can?”

“How?” asked Philip eagerly.

“Your presence, more than anything else, will inspire her with the desire to live.”

When the fever turned, Ruth was in a very critical condition.  For two days her life was like the fluttering of a lighted candle in the wind.  Philip was constantly by her side, and she seemed to be conscious of his presence, and to cling to him, as one borne away by a swift stream clings to a stretched-out hand from the shore.  If he was absent a moment her restless eyes sought something they were disappointed not to find.

Philip so yearned to bring her back to life, he willed it so strongly and passionately, that his will appeared to affect hers and she seemed slowly to draw life from his.

After two days of this struggle with the grasping enemy, it was evident to Dr. Longstreet that Ruth’s will was beginning to issue its orders to her body with some force, and that strength was slowly coming back.  In another day there was a decided improvement.  As Philip sat holding her weak hand and watching the least sign of resolution in her face, Ruth was able to whisper,

“I so want to live, for you, Phil!”

“You will; darling, you must,” said Philip in a tone of faith and courage that carried a thrill of determination—­of command—­along all her nerves.