He went round and took her hand, and whispered, 'Mother!' Did she smile?
He thought she did.
Shortly afterwards her lips moved, and Gladys heard the name ever on them, 'Netta.' This was better, far better, than that death-like trance.
'Mother, dear mother,' again whispered Rowland, and once more her eyes opened and fixed on him, with something like consciousness.
At last an opiate which the doctor had given took effect, and she slept; her pulse was so weak, and her breathing so faint, that at first the watchers thought she was passing away into that sleep from which there is no awakening; but it was not so.

It was a weak troubled sleep; still it was a sleep.
By degrees all left the room but Rowland and Gladys.

Mrs Prothero's hand seemed to be clasping that of her son, as if it would not let go; and Gladys never moved from the bedside.
She saw that there must be hope if real sleep came.

As she sat down in a kind of easy chair that Owen had placed for her by the bedside, she thanked God for this amount of hope, 'Sleep, Gladys, I will watch,' whispered Rowland.
And truly the poor girl had need of rest.

Scarce had she closed her eyes during that anxious week, and she knew well how necessary rest was to her.