She paused in turn, while he waited patiently, expectant that she would continue.
“Ask me no more, Mr Elthorne. I gave my trusting, girlish heart to one I believed good and noble, but I was rudely awakened from my dream; and, after a long illness, I devoted myself to the task of trying to help those in sore need of a woman’s hand, sometimes to nurse them back to life, sometimes—ah, too often!—to close their eyes in death. Ask me no more.”
He raised her hand reverently to his lips, and then let it fall.
“I will ask you no more,” he said gently; and they sat in silence for a time.
“L’homme propose, et Dieu dispose,” he said at last thoughtfully. “I have spent much of my time in planning, but too often my plans have been brought to naught. Nurse, I give up now; I will only try to do what is right while I stay. It will be a grief and will bring more suffering to me, but it is not just to you that I should keep you here.”
“No, sir. I am waiting patiently, hoping that I may soon be set free to return to my work. You are well enough now to require only the assistance of your child and your sister. Give me leave now to go. I would gladly stay longer, but there is no need.”
“No,” he said after a time, “there is no real need. You must go.”
She rose and stood before him, gazing down at him pityingly, as he lay there, aged by ten years since she came.
“Good-bye, sir,” she said softly.
“What!” he cried, “going now?”