Clare waited until his quiet breathing showed that he was asleep, and then crossed the floor softly and stood looking down on him. There was light enough to see his face and it was worn and thin. His weakness moved her to pity, but there was something else. He had remembered that night in England, he knew her step and voice, and his rambling talk had caused her a thrill, for she remembered the night in England well. Brandon had shielded her from a man whom she had good ground for wishing to avoid. He had, no doubt, not quite understood the situation, but had seen that she needed help and chivalrously offered it. She knew he could be trusted and had without much hesitation made her unconventional request. He had then been marked by strong vitality and cheerful confidence, but he was ill and helpless now, and his weakness appealed to her as his vigor had not done. He was, in a way, dependent on her, and Clare felt glad this was so. She blushed as she smoothed the coverlet across his shoulders and then quietly stole away.
There was no sea breeze next morning and the sun shone through a yellow haze that seemed to intensify the heat. The white walls reflected a curious subdued light that was more trying to the eyes than the usual glare, and the beat of the surf was slow and languid. The air was still and heavy, and Dick’s fever, which had been abating, recovered force. He was hot and irritable, and his restlessness did not vanish until Clare came in at noon.
“I’ve been watching for you since daybreak, and you might have come before,” he said. “Lucille means well, but she’s clumsy. She doesn’t help one to be quiet as you do.”
“You’re not quiet,” Clare answered in a reproving tone. “Lucille is a very good nurse; better than I am.”
“Well,” said Dick in a thoughtful tone, “perhaps she is, in a way. She never upsets the medicine on my pillow, as you did the last time. The nasty stuff got into my hair——”
Clare raised her hand in remonstrance. “You really mustn’t talk.”
“I’m going to talk,” Dick answered defiantly. “It’s bad for me to keep puzzling over things, and I mean to get them straight. Lucille’s very patient, but she isn’t soothing as you are. It rests one’s eyes to look at you, but that’s not altogether why I like you about. I expect it’s because you knew I hadn’t stolen those plans when everybody else thought I had. But then why did I tear your letter up?”
Clare made an abrupt movement. She knew he must be kept quiet and his brain was not working normally, but his statement was disturbing.
“You tore it up?” she asked, with some color in her face.
“Yes,” said Dick in a puzzled voice, “I tore it all to bits. There was a reason, though I can’t remember it. In fact, I can’t remember anything to-day. But don’t go off if I shut my eyes for a minute: it wouldn’t be fair.”