'Oh, no, oh, no—not that, not that, when I now know all.'
'Why then, Allan?'
'Because all the doctors tell me that there is something typhoid in this Egyptian enteric fever, and if it were to affect you——'
'Allan!' she exclaimed, reproachfully; and, pressing her lips to his, added, 'if you die, let me die too.'
'Olive!'
'Do you doubt me now?'
'Oh, no—oh, no, my darling; but do leave me.'
'Why?'
'Because this sick-room is no place for you.'
But Olive in the depth of her love was resolute, and kept her place as a watcher by his pillow, and day after day, with only short intervals of rest, was she there unvaryingly; and as she bent over Allan's sick-bed she felt how true it is that 'all the forces of our nature rush towards the channels of pity, of patience, and of love, and sweep down the choking drift of our quarrels, our debates, our would-be wisdom, and our clamorous, selfish desires.'