Again there was silence, and the two, the friend and the doctor, remained absolutely still for some five minutes. Then from the bed came a long sigh. David’s head rolled a little sideways on the pillow, and after that came the quiet, regular breathing. Then the doctor whispered once more to Maddox. “You may have to sit like that with your arm out for hours,” he said. “We’ll try to make you comfortable presently. Can you manage it?” “Why, yes,” said he. The doctor quietly left the room, but came back soon after with pillows, and, as well as he could, propped up Maddox’s outstretched arm. Then he spoke to the nurse who was to sit up, and came back to the bed and looked at David a moment, listening to his regular breathing. “I’m going to get a bit of sleep now,” he whispered to Frank, “but I’m afraid you won’t. You must stop just as you are. If he lets go of your hand you must still sit there in case he wakes and asks for you. If he says anything, answer him as if he was in his dormitory, and you in the bed next him. You’re in charge.” It was a couple of hours before David moved. Then he turned a little in bed. “Frank,” he said. “Oh, shut up and go to sleep,” said Frank. “’Tisn’t morning.” “Right oh!” said David. All sensation had gone from Maddox’s arm; it was quite numb up to the shoulder, and it was only with his eyes that, presently after, he knew that David had let his hand slip from his own. Then very gently he withdrew it, and it fell helplessly on to his knees. David slept on through the hour before dawn when the flame of vitality burns dim and the dying loose their hold on life, until through the curtains the pale light of morning looked in, dimming the lamp-light. Outside the twitter of birds began, and the hushed sounds of life stole about within the house, and the nurse moved quietly to and fro in the room, setting things in order for the day. She brought Frank a cup of tea and some bread and butter, and he ate and drank without moving from the bedside. Before long the doctor paid his promised visit, but there was nothing for him to do, now that sleep had come to David. The immediate necessity was fulfilled, and beyond that there was no need to look at present. Only Hope, the little white flame which had burned so dim and had come so near to being quenched the evening before, shone more bravely. All that morning Maddox sat by David’s bed as he slept. It was he who had brought to him, through the tie of their love and David’s instinctive obedience to his suggestion, the sleep that had been so imperative a need, and the sunny morning grew broad and hot as he dozed sometimes, but oftener watched, filled with a huge and humble exultation of happiness that he had been able to help David. And when David woke, as he did, a little after noon, it was the best of all. For even while his eyes were yet scarcely unclosed, he spoke just one word—Frank’s name, still sleepily.