The nun who had fetched her crossed the room and touched her fellow watcher on the arm, and together they left the room.
When they were alone Galva bent lower over towards Edward and he put out his hands and took her little ones between them, and as he did so something warm fell upon them.
"Why, Galva—what's all this—tears? Why——"
"Oh, guardy, you are hurt—and I can't bear it. I would never forgive myself—never, if anything were to happen to you. It is my fault—it——"
"I don't know, Galva, whether I'm badly hurt or not—sometimes I think I am. I don't feel much pain now—but there is a tightness here. Why was I put in this room, into the presence of death? Enrico in all his glory is hardly the best of company for an invalid." And he smiled a little.
"It was the doctor, guardy, the man who had been attending the king. He had you brought here as it was nearest, and he won't let them move you. He tried to find the bullet, but he couldn't. He is coming again in the morning. Who shot you, guardy?"
"Never mind that now, dear. I want to ask you something. I want you to tell me if——if——I have been of use to you, if I have helped ever so little to put you where you are now—to make you Queen of San Pietro."
Galva raised her head.
"Why, Mr. Sydney, what a strange question—of course——"
"Not so strange, dear, not so strange. Don't call me Mr. Sydney, just Edward. And so I have really helped a little? I'm glad. I'm—do you know, Galva, that I have always thought that in this life we are given our chance to combat the evil we do with good, to balance our account, as it were; that for every sin we commit, every wrong we do, we are given a whitewash brush, to use if we will."