“That is all settled,” he said; “don’t you trouble your head about anything. Sister Margaret has instructions to arrange everything for you.”
And May found that Sister Margaret had instructions to go out and purchase everything she required in the way of dress or outfit. She was a nice, kind, sensible woman, whose own brow was not unlined with sorrow, and she felt great pity for the poor young widow—so May was supposed to be in the hospital—whom she had nursed through her grievous illness. She was also instructed to ask Mrs. Church no questions regarding her past life.
“She has had great troubles; let her try to forget them,” the doctor told the nurse. “She has youth to help her, and thinking of the past will do her no good.”
Ralph Webster saw May again before she left town for Hastings, but when she tried to thank him for all he had done for her he would not listen. To do anything for her indeed was his greatest happiness. But he tried to hide this, and did hide the strong, deep feelings of his heart.
But a painful incident occurred before he parted with her. Webster noticed that May was agitated, and suddenly her delicate skin flushed, and with quivering lips she asked him a question:
“Have you,” she said, in a broken voice, “seen or heard anything of—him?”
Webster hesitated, but he saw it was only cruel to prolong her suspense.
“I have heard nothing,” he answered, “of Mr. Temple; except I know a person who saw him one day.”
“Then he is still in London!” cried May, with deep emotion; “still—he must have made inquiries—he—he was sure to make inquiries—but no doubt he believes me dead. It is best that he should believe me dead!”