Edward did not appear to realize that he was in a new place, and remained the same careless and helpless being, with the difference that he stayed in bed a great part of his time, while at Goodnow's home Grace used to make him take long strolls on the ranch. She was still his faithful friend, and every day she brought him flowers, and now and then she read to him as she used to.
After he had been in the hospital two or three weeks, a new sister came, and took charge of Edward, among her other patients. Her name was Sister Mary, and a sweeter face had never worn a hood. From the first time she came in Edward's room her voice seemed to have a peculiar effect upon him, and while she was near him his eyes always followed her, which fact was rather strange considering that he had, ever since his illness, paid no attention to any one. The doctor noticed this fact and jokingly told Sister Mary that she had come in time to save his patient.
One day, Sister Mary was surprised to hear her patient ask her to sing, and as she looked at him, he said: "Please, Nellie, sing that old song, won't you?"
Sister Mary turned pale and would have fallen to the floor, had the doctor not happened to be coming in.
"Please, Nellie—sing, only once, won't you?" Edward was imploringly repeating.
"Still wanting his old mare Nellie to sing for him," said the doctor, before he noticed Sister Mary; then seeing her reeling and ready to fall, he said:
"What's the matter, sister? Are you sick?" and held her up.
"Please help me out of this room, doctor," was all she said, and to the doctor's questions later, she answered that her name used to be Nellie, and that she used to sing, and she added. "I used to know him."
The doctor saw at once that there was a romance somewhere, and in his anxiety to experiment, he begged sister Mary to come back to the room of his patient and sing for him.
"It may be the key that will open his brain to let in the rays of intelligence," he pleaded, and at last Sister Mary consented to go back and sing.