“Why, my dear brave girl, what ails you?” said he.
“Ignorance.”
She raised her eyelids. His head was bent down over her, like a raven’s watching, a picture of gravest vigilance.
Her bosom rose and sank. “What has Miss Denham written to-day?”
“To-day?” he asked her gently.
“I shall bear it,” she answered. “You were my master before you were my husband. I bear anything you think is good for my government. Only, my ignorance is fever; I share Nevil’s.”
“Have you been to my desk at all?”
“No. I read your eyes and your hands: I have been living on them. To-day I find that I have not gained by it, as I hoped I should. Ignorance kills me. I really have courage to bear to hear—just at this moment I have.”
“There’s no bad news, my love,” said the earl.
“High fever, is it?”