I don't suppose five minutes passed all that woful night through without my getting up and putting my cheek close to her mouth, to feel if the faint breaths still fluttered out of it.

They came and went just the same as at first, though the fright I was in often made me fancy they were stilled forever.
Just as the church clocks were striking four I was startled by seeing the room door open.

It was only Dusty Sal (as they call her in the house), the maid-of-all-work.

She was wrapped up in the blanket off her bed; her hair was all tumbled over her face, and her eyes were heavy with sleep as she came up to the bedside where I was sitting.
"I've two hours good before I begin to work," says she, in her hoarse, drowsy voice, "and I've come to sit up and take my turn at watching her.
You lay down and get some sleep on the rug.

Here's my blanket for you.