CHAPTER XLV
But Helen wanted no assistance. The tameless energy of eighteen bore her through all the fatigues of broken nights and watchful days; and every hour her husband became dearer to her as she became more necessary to him. His eyes followed her with the tenderest gaze as she moved noiselessly about his room; the hand that brought him refreshment or medicine was warmly pressed to his lips; the fondest words of endearment fell gently from his pallid lips. If she left the room, he could have addressed her in the touching words of one of the best of English poetesses:
"Watch me, oh, watch me still,
Through the long night's dreary hours—
Uphold, by thy firm will,
Worn nature's sinking powers.
While yet I see thee there
(Thy loose locks round thee flying),
So young, and fresh, and fair,
I feel not I am dying."
Helen had expected, from former recollections, that the period of convalescence might be one of impatience and irritation. "All men are impatient when they are ill," she thought; "but somehow I do not think I shall mind it now. I know I can make him follow all Dr. Grey's directions, and that is all that is of real importance; and if he is low and vexed at times, it is only natural, poor fellow!" But he never was vexed or cross, which was the word that Helen had sedulously refrained from using, even in her thoughts. Once he was almost peremptory in his orders
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