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.