About a week later Ralph was admitted by the nurse to the room where Alice lay, regaining her strength. He was still weak, himself, from the loss of blood. Alice had just awakened, and at his step, she turned her lovely face eagerly toward him. Her cheeks were faintly tinged with the delicate pink of the seashell, her eyes were bright with the soft glow of health.
She beckoned to him smiling into his eyes, and he knelt down beside her, taking her hands in his own, and holding them close. She moved her lips and he bent his head close to them, so that her gentle breath fanned his cheek.
"I can't talk very loud," she whispered. "My lungs and vocal chords are not strong yet, but the nurse said I might speak just a few words. But I wanted to tell you something."
"What is it, my darling?" he asked tenderly.
She looked at him with the old sparkle of mischief in her dark eyes.
"Dearest," she said, "I have just found out what your name really means."
Ralph twined a little tendril of her hair around one of his fingers.
"Yes?" he asked with a quizzical smile.
"Well, you see," and the lovely color deepened to rose, "your name is going to be my name now, so I keep saying it over to myself—"