"I must," Martin feebly breathed. "Are you Beryl? I woke, and thought I was dreaming, and so I touched your hand to be sure."
"Yes, I am Beryl," was the reply. "But you must not talk any more. You are very weak."
With a deep sigh, whether of regret or contentment the nurse could not tell, Martin closed his eyes, and in a few moments passed into a restful and a natural sleep. Nurse Marion stood very still for a while watching him. Just what her thoughts were she alone knew, but her eyes were moist as she presently turned and walked softly into the large ward outside.
As the days passed Martin rapidly improved, and at length he was able to sit up. The miners came often to see him, for they all held him in high regard for what he had done for Tim. But Martin was never so happy as when Beryl was in the room. Neither had once mentioned the days years ago, and to outward eyes they were friends and nothing more. But little did people realise what was taking place in the hearts of both patient and nurse alike. Beryl was ever on her guard lest she should let slip the slightest word which might betray her inmost feelings. The bitterness of that day when Nance had first knelt by the cot had passed away. But she did not know what Martin thought of her, though at times she found his eyes fixed upon her in a puzzled way.
Martin, in fact, did not know what to make of Beryl's quiet constrained manner. If she had expressed surprise, or even upbraided him, he could have understood it. But she never alluded to the past. She waited upon him, and talked about ordinary things, but that was all. This estrangement was hard for him to endure. He began to feel that she no longer cared for him. She knew what he had done, and so was determined to treat him as any other patient. Such was the situation between the two. Each believed that the other did not care, and so both made every effort not to reveal the real feelings enshrined within their hearts.
One bright afternoon Nance and Dick crossed over the river to the lonely house to bring back some books for the Reading Room. Beryl watched them as they sped down to the river on their show-shoes—for there was no path in the deep snow. A sigh escaped her lips as she saw how happy they were. Laughingly they waved their hands to her as they reached the river, and saw her still at the window. What perfect understanding there is between them, she mused. Could any two people be more suited to each other than they?
She remained gazing after them for a while, and then went into the room where Martin was sitting. She found him near the window facing the river. His eyes were filled with an inexpressible sadness as they followed Nance and Dick until they reached the log building beyond. Beryl stood watching him for a few heart beats, and then moved softly to his side. But Martin did not look up. Instead, his whole body drooped, his head bent forward, and he buried his face in his hands as if trying to shut out something from his view.
"What is it?" Beryl asked, in a voice tremulous with emotion. "Are you not feeling well? Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Beryl," and Martin lifted his face, which was now drawn and haggard.
"Yes—Martin," was the faint reply.