Gloria, as though she felt his eyes upon her, stirred, rose, pushed the hair back from her eyes and came quickly to him. And as she came, she smiled. She went down on her knees beside him and took his hand in her two and held it tight. She had never seen in his eyes a look like the one now burning in them. She could not understand its mute message, but she spoke softly: "Everything is all right, Mark. And you are better every time you wake."
His lips strove to frame words. She bent close to them and heard his wondering whisper: "Every--thing--all right?"
"Yes, thank God," she whispered back to him. "Everything in all the wide, wide world!"
No, he could not understand that. She saw perplexity in his eyes now. But she did not mean to let him talk yet and it was time for broth again. But again he was whispering: "Blankets--yours----"
"Yes, Mark. After you have had your nourishment. When I need them."
But when he had taken his cup of hot broth he slipped off to sleep again and Gloria, smiling a tender smile, sat by her fire watching him as a mother watches a sick baby who, the doctor has just told her, will live.