day, and Sylvia was lying on her water-bed watching her movements
with gloomy, disapproving eyes. For four long weeks--ever since the
crisis had passed and she had come back to consciousness of her
surroundings--she had watched the same proceeding morning after morning,
until its details had become almost unbearably wearisome to her weak
nerves.

First of all came Mary to sweep the floor--she went down on her knees,
and swept up the dust with a small hand-brush, and however carefully she
might begin, it was quite, quite certain that she would end by knocking
up against the legs of the bed, and giving a jar and shock to the
quivering inmate. Then she would depart, and nurse would take the
ornaments off the mantelpiece, flick the duster over them, and put them
back in the wrong places.

It did not seem of the least importance to her whether the blue vase
stood in the centre or at the side, but Sylvia had a dozen reasons for
wishing to have it in exactly one position and no other. She liked to
see its graceful shape and rich colouring reflected in the mirror which
hung immediately beneath the gas-bracket; if it were moved to the left
it spoiled her view of a tiny water-colour painting which was one of her
greatest treasures, while if it stood on the right it ousted the
greatest treasure of all--the silver-framed portrait of the dear,
darling, most beloved of fathers, who was afar off at the other side of
the world, tea-planting in Ceylon.

Sylvia was too weak to protest, but she burrowed down among the clothes,
and moped to herself in good old typhoid fashion. "Wish she would leave
it alone! Wish people wouldn't bother about the room. Don't care if it
is dusty! Wish I could be left in peace. Don't believe I shall ever be
better. Don't believe my temperature ever _will_ go down. Don't care
if it doesn't! Wish father were home to come and talk, and cheer me up.
Boo-hoo-hoo!"

The tears trickled down and splashed saltly against her lips, but she
kept her sobs under control, for crying was a luxury which was forbidden
by the authorities, and could only be indulged in by stealth.

The night nurse thought that the patient had fallen asleep, but when she
went off duty, and her successor arrived, she cast a suspicious glance
at the humped-up bedclothes, and turned them down with a gentle but
determined hand.

"Crying again?" she cried. "Oh, come now, I can't allow that! What are
you crying about on such a lovel