You can remain in the next room, Ogden, so as to be within call, if wanted." Kate remained by her sick brother through the long hours of that wintry night.

She sat by the bedside, bathing the hot face and fevered hands, and holding cooling drinks to the dry lips.

The shaded lamp lit the room dimly, too dimly to see to read; so she sat patiently, listening to the snow-storm, and watching her sick brother's face.

In the next room Mr.
Ogden slept the sleep of the just, in an arm-chair, his profound snoring making a sort of accompaniment to the howling of the wind.
The slow, slow hours dragged away, and morning came.

It found the patient worse, weak, prostrated, and deadly sick, but not delirious.
"I know I have the fever, Kate," he said, in a weak whisper; "I am glad of it.