limp and tired. His voice is mournful as he speaks.] No sun yet. It isn’t time. All I can see is the black rim of the damned hills outlined against a creeping greyness. [He turns around; letting the curtains fall back, stretching a hand out to the wall to support himself. His false strength of a moment has evaporated leaving his face drawn and hollow eyed. He makes a pitiful attempt to smile.] That’s not a very happy augury, is it? But the sun’ll come—soon. [He sways weakly.]
Ruth—[Hurrying to his side and supporting him.] Please go to bed, won’t you, Rob? You don’t want to be all wore out when the specialist comes, do you?
Robert—[Quickly.] No. That’s right. He mustn’t think I’m sicker than I am. And I feel as if I could sleep now—[Cheerfully.]—a good, sound, restful sleep.
Ruth—[Helping him to the bedroom door.] That’s what you need most. [They go inside. A moment later she reappears calling back.] I’ll shut this door so’s you’ll be quiet. [She closes the door and goes quickly to her mother and shakes her by the shoulder.] Ma! Ma! Wake up!
Mrs. Atkins—[Coming out of her sleep with a start.] Glory be! What’s the matter with you?
Ruth—It was Rob. He’s just been talking to me out here. I put him back to bed. [Now that she is sure her mother is awake her fear passes and she relapses into dull indifference. She sits down in her chair
