‘I am not so certain of that. The convent has great hopes of inheriting her fortune. She is rich, and she is a devout Catholic; and we have heard of cases where zeal for the Church has pushed discretion very far.’
‘What a worldly creature it is!’ cried Nina; ‘and who would have suspected it?’
‘I do not see the worldliness of my believing that people will do much to serve the cause they follow. When chemists tell us that there is no finding such a thing as a glass of pure water, where are we to go for pure motives?’
‘To one’s heart, of course,’ said Nina; but the curl of her perfectly-cut lip as she said it, scarcely vouched for the sincerity.
On that same evening, just as the last flickerings of twilight were dying away, Nina stole into the sick-room, and took her place noiselessly beside the bed.
Slowly moving his arm without turning his head, or by any gesture whatever acknowledging her presence, he took her hand and pressed it to his burning lips, and then laid it upon his cheek. She made no effort to withdraw her hand, and sat perfectly still and motionless.
‘Are we alone?’ whispered he, in a voice hardly audible.
‘Yes, quite alone.’
‘If I should say what—displease you,’ faltered he, his agitation making speech even more difficult; ‘how shall I tell?’ And once more he pressed her hand to his lips.
‘No, no; have no fears of displeasing me. Say what you would like to tell me.’