“Greater love hath no man than this, that
a man lay down his life for his friends.”
She threw back her veil on seeing me approach, and came forwards to meet me, with a quiet smile, and far more self-possessed than I could have expected.
“It is quite like old times, seeing you here again!” she said, in tones of genuine pleasure. “Have you been to see my father?”
“No,” I said: “I was on my way there, and came through here as the shortest way. I hope he is well, and you also?”
“Thanks, we are both quite well. And you? Are you any better yet?”
“Not much better, I fear: but no worse, I am thankful to say.”
“Let us sit here awhile, and have a quiet chat,” she said. The calmness—almost indifference—of her manner quite took me by surprise. I little guessed what a fierce restraint she was putting upon herself.
“One can be so quiet here,” she resumed. “I come here every—every day.”
“It is very peaceful,” I said.
“You got my letter?”