"I'll try, Dicky," he said humbly.
"Yes, all right. You try!" Dick said, and got up, more moved than he cared to show. He turned to go, but paused to light Robin's candle from his own. "And don't forget I'm—rather fond of you, my boy!" he said, with a brief smile over his shoulder as he went away.
No, Robin was not likely to forget that, seeing that Dick's love for him was his safeguard from all evil, and his love for Dick was the mainspring of his life. But—though his development was stunted and imperfect—there were certain facts of existence which he was beginning slowly but surely to grasp. And one of these—before but dimly suspected—he had realized fully to-night, a fact beyond all questioning learnt from Dick's own lips.
Dick's words: "The woman I love," had sunk deep—deep into his soul. And he knew with that intuition which cannot err that his love for Juliet was the greatest thing life held for him—or ever could hold again.
And the driving force gripped Robin's soul afresh as he lay wide-eyed to the smothering gloom of the night. Whatever happened—whoever suffered—Dicky must have his heart's desire.
CHAPTER VI
THE SISTER OF MERCY
For five days after that burning afternoon of the flower-show Juliet scarcely left Vera Fielding's side. During those five days Vera lay at the point of death, and though her husband was constantly with her it was to Juliet that she clung through all the terrible phases of weakness, breathlessness, and pain that she passed. Through the dark nights—though a trained nurse was in attendance—it was Juliet's hand that held her up, Juliet's low calm voice that reassured her in the Valley of the Shadow through which she wandered. Often too spent for speech, her eyes would rest with a piteous, child-like pleading upon Juliet's quiet face, and—for Juliet at least—there was no resisting their entreaty. She laid all else aside and devoted herself body and soul to the tender care of the sick woman.
Edward Fielding regarded her with reverence and a deep affection that grew with every day that passed. She was always so gentle, so capable, so undismayed. He knew that her whole strength was bent to the task of saving Vera's life, and even when he most despaired he found himself leaning upon her, gathering courage from the resolute confidence with which she shouldered her burden.
"She never thinks of herself at all," he said once to Saltash between whom and himself a friendship wholly unavoidable on his part and also curiously pleasant had sprung up. "I suppose in her position of companion she has been more or less trained for this sort of thing. But her devotion is amazing. She is absolutely indispensable to my wife."