"Did I say that?" he said. "Yes, I had forgotten."
He was silent for a little, gazing full at her with the eyes of one suddenly awakened.
She lowered her own, and bent her face to the violets. Though she had spoken so quietly it had not been without effort. She had not found it easy. Nor did she find his silence easy, implicitly though she trusted him.
Perhaps he understood, for when he spoke at length there was in his voice so reassuring a gentleness that on the instant her embarrassment passed.
"Anne," he said, "do you really want me to get well? Would such a miracle make much difference to you?"
"It would make all the difference in the world," she answered earnestly.
"I want it more than anything else in life."
With the words she raised her eyes, found his fixed upon her with an expression so new, so tender, that her heart stirred within her as a flower that expands in sudden sunshine, and the next moment his hand lay between her own, and all doubt, all hesitation had fled.
"But, my dear," he said, "I always thought it was Nap. Surely it was
Nap!"
She felt as if something had stabbed her. "No, never!" she said passionately. "Never! It might have been—once—before I knew him. But never since, never since!"
"That so?" said Lucas Errol, and was silent for a little. Then, "Anne"—and the soft drawl had in it a tremor that was almost a break—"I guess I do believe in miracles after all, dear. Anyway," he began to smile, "there are some things in life too mighty for explanation."