There was deep pathos in her sleeping face.

Lines that in her waking moments were never apparent were painfully noticeable in repose.

She had the puzzled, wistful look of a child who has gone through trouble without understanding it--a hurt and piteous look.
He watched her thus till a sense of trespass came upon him, and then he rose, bent over her, and very tenderly lifted her.
She was alert on the instant, with a sharp movement of resistance.

Then at once her arms went round his neck.

"Oh, darling, is it you?
Don't bother to carry me! You're so tired!" He smiled at the idea, and she nestled against his heart, lifting soft lips to his.
He carried her to bed, and laid her down, but she would not let him go immediately.