"Weeks off?" asked Paul.
"Yes, dear. Many weeks' journey, night and day."
"If you were in India, Floy," said Paul, after being silent for a minute. "I should—what is it that mamma did? I forget."
"Loved me?" answered Florence.
"No, no. Don't I love you now, Floy? What is it?—Died. If you were in India, I should die, Floy."
She hurriedly put her work aside, and laid her head down on his pillow, caressing him. And so would she, she said, if he were there. He would be better soon.
"Oh! I am a great deal better now!" he answered. "I don't mean that. I mean that I should die of being so sorry and so lonely, Floy!"
Another time, in the same place, he fell asleep, and slept quietly for a long time. Awaking suddenly, he started up, and sat listening.
Florence asked him what he thought he heard.
"I want to know what it says," he answered, looking steadily in her face. "The sea, Floy; what is it that it keeps on saying?"