But alas, alas! she had no love to give. Drake had stolen it long ago, there at Shorne Mills; and though he had flung it from him, it could not come back to her.
Even as she sat, with Falconer's hand in hers, she could not keep her mind from dwelling on Drake, though the failure of her attempt to do so covered her with shame. She had been in his arms again, had heard his voice, and the glamour of his presence and his touch were upon her.
His face hovered before her in the dim light of the sick room, and filled her with the aching longing of unsatisfied love.
Oh, why could she not forget him? Why could she not bring herself to accept, to return, the love of the man who loved her with all his heart and soul? He was all that was good, he was a genius, and a brave man to boot! Surely any woman might be proud to possess him for a husband, might learn to love him!
She turned and looked at him as he lay, his head tossing restlessly on the pillow, his lips moving deliriously; but though her whole being was stirred with pity for him, pity is not love, though it may be nearly akin, and one cannot force love as one forces a hothouse plant.
After a while he became weaker, and the rambling, incoherent talk ceased; but she was still holding his hand when Dick and the doctor came in again. She sought the latter's face eagerly, but he merely smiled encouragingly.
"He has had a better night than I expected," he said, "and the temperature is not exceedingly high. You had better get some rest, Miss Lorton; you have been sitting up, I see."
Dick drew Nell out of the room.
"Drake—confound it! Lord Angleford, I mean!—has sent for Sir William. Is—is he going to die, do you think. Nell?"
Nell shook her head, her eyes filling.