But, when he wanted his medicine, when his pillows needed a little arrangement, when I saw his poor eyes open, and look at me vacantly--then my resolution failed me; my indecision returned; the horrid necessity of speaking showed itself again, and shook me to the soul.

Never in the trials of later life have I passed such a night as that night at Mr.Keller's bedside.
When the light of the new day shone in at the window, it was but too plainly visible that the symptoms had altered for the worse.
The apathy was more profound, the wan pinched look of the face had increased, the intervals between the attacks of nervous trembling had grown shorter and shorter.

Come what might of it, when Dr.Dormann paid his promised visit, I felt I was now bound to inform him that another person besides the servants and ourselves had obtained access secretly to Mr.Keller's room.
I was so completely worn out by agitation and want of sleep--and I showed it, I suppose, so plainly--that good Mr.Engelman insisted on my leaving him in charge, and retiring to rest.

I lay down on my bed, with the door of my room ajar, resolved to listen for the doctor's footsteps on the stairs, and to speak to him privately after he had seen the patient.
If I had been twenty years older, I might have succeeded in carrying out my intention.

But, with the young, sleep is a paramount necessity, and nature insists on obedience to its merciful law.