The old man lay holding his nurse’s hand, and gazing at her fair, innocent face intently for some minutes before breaking the silence again.
“When was it?” he said at last.
“A week to-day, and in another month you may be up again.”
“Hah! And they say there are no miracles now, and no angels upon earth,” said the patient, half to himself. Then more loudly, “Cornel, my child, I think I must turn over a new leaf.”
“Don’t,” she said, smiling. “I like the old page. You have always been my fathers dear friend—always good and kind.”
“I? Bah! A regular money-scraping, harsh tyrant. A regular miser.”
“Nonsense, Mr Masters.”
“Then I’ll prove it. I won’t pay Michael his fees, nor you your wages for nursing me—not till I’m dead. Well, have I said something funny? Why do you laugh?”
“I smiled because I felt pleased.”
“Because I’m better?”