Robert—[As Andrew helps him to the bedroom.] Pull the bed around so it’ll face the window, will you, Andy? I can’t sleep, but I’ll rest and forget if I can watch the rim of the hills and dream of what is waiting beyond. [They go into the bedroom.] And shut the door, Andy. I want to be alone. [Andrew reappears and shuts the door softly. He comes and sits down on his chair again, supporting his head on his hands. His face is drawn with the intensity of his dry-eyed anguish.]
Ruth—[Glancing at him—fearfully.] He’s out of his mind now, isn’t he?
Andrew—He may be a little delirious. The fever would do that. [With impotent rage.] God, what a shame! And there’s nothing we can do but sit and—wait! [He springs from his chair and walks to the stove.]
Ruth—[Dully.] He was talking—wild—like he used to—only this time it sounded—unnatural, don’t you think?
Andrew—I don’t know. The things he said to me had truth in them—even if he did talk them way up in the air, like he always sees things. Still——— [He glances down at Ruth keenly.] Why do you suppose he wanted us to promise we’d——— [Confusedly.] You know what he said.
Ruth—[Dully.] His mind was wandering, I s’pose.
Andrew—[With conviction.] No— there was something back of it.
