“Better—yes; and you’ll soon grow strong and well again.”
“Do you think so?” she said, looking at him wistfully, while an incredulous smile was upon her lips. “But don’t let’s talk of that. Sit down by me, where I can see you—I’ve so much to say.”
He drew a chair to her side, and, as he did so, he saw that they were alone, for Mrs Lane had gone out softly directly he had entered. Then sitting down, the note which he had received fell from his pocket, and lay half beneath the couch.
“You are not angry with me for sending for you?” said the girl, piteously. “Why do you frown?”
“Did I frown?” he said, gently. “It was only a passing thought. There, now, let’s have a quiet, long chat.”
“Yes,” she said, eagerly. “I want to thank you for being so kind to us—for the fruit and flowers, and all you have done for mamma. As for me,” she continued, laying her hand in his, “I shall be so ungrateful.”
“No, no, I cannot believe that.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling, “you have done so much to make me well, and in return I shall die.”
“My dear child, you must not talk like this,” exclaimed Richard, with an involuntary shiver. “You must get well and strong again.”
She shook her head sadly, and then lay gazing up into his eyes.