He put his hands to his eyes, but he could not keep back the tears.
"I have been such a lonely old man," he sobbed; "no one can tell what a lonely, loveless life mine has been. If I were not so old and so tired, I should like to begin all over again."
He sobbed for many minutes, and she did not know what to say to him of comfort; but she took his hand within her own and gently caressed it, as one might do to a little child in pain. He looked up and smiled through his tears.
"You have been very good to me," he said, "and I dare say you have thought me ungrateful. You mended my coat for me one morning, and not a day has passed but that I have looked at the darn and thought of you. I like to remember that you have done it for me. But you have done far more than this for me; you have put some sweetness into my life. Whatever becomes of me hereafter, I shall never be able to think of my life on earth as anything but beautiful, because you thought kindly of me, and acted kindly for me. The other night, when this terrible pain came over me, I wished you were near me; I wished to hear your voice. There is very beautiful music in your voice."
"I would have come to you gladly," she said, smiling quietly at him. "You must make a promise that when you feel ill again you will send for me. Then you will see what a splendid nurse I am, and how soon you will become strong and well under my care; strong enough to paint many more pictures, each one better than the last. Now, will you promise?"
"Yes," he said, and he raised her hand reverently to his lips.
"You are not angry with me for doing that?" he asked suddenly. "I should not like to vex you."
"I am not vexed," she answered kindly.
"Then perhaps I may kiss it once more?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, and again he raised her hand to his lips.