Sunnie looked at her pathetically.
"I shall see you in the dark, sitting opposite me, I with your long-tailed paint-brush and my picture. I shall shut my eyes every evening, and see you there, and I shall pretend you're real, and I shall go on talking to you. I have to do such a lot of pretending when Cousin Leslie is away."
"He will be coming back soon. You must wish him goodbye for me, Sunnie."
There was a tremor in her voice. She felt again the touch of his hand on her shoulder: that involuntary, earnest touch that had shown her the secret of her heart, and had made him take a decisive step to remove himself from the fascination of her presence.
"Yes," said Sunnie; "make up a nice message for me to give him. Your love and a kiss?"
"Oh no!" said Jean, laughing though her heart ached. "No special message—just a goodbye."
Then she rose to her feet, and stood looking down upon the little invalid very tenderly.
"Sunnie, I wonder if you would give me what you give the doctor every night. You call it your blessing."
Sunnie's face shone. She brushed the traces of her tears away with her little hands, and then clasped them over Jean's dark head, which was now bent down over her.
"God bless you, and keep you safe and good in London. Amen."