"Love is a flame, and at that flame
I light my torch of life."
The torch was burning with a clear white light, but the end of light would mean also the end of life. Quite involuntarily she gave a little sigh for the pity of it all, and in a second he opened his eyes, which had been closed.
"Don't sigh, my sweet," he said tenderly; "I cannot bear you should be unhappy for a moment, especially when I know you are unhappy because of me."
"I am not unhappy," she replied. "Did I sigh? If so it was quite unconsciously. Perhaps you should rest a little now. Don't you think you could sleep? I think the doctor would feel I had been here long enough."
"You will come again soon?" he pleaded.
"To-morrow," she said, rising. "Now, mind, you are not to doubt or to worry yourself. I shall come to-morrow, and every day so long as you want me. To-morrow I will read to you if you ought not to talk, and I shall hope to see you ever so much stronger." She paused. This was the difficult moment, and she was quite aware of it.
He took her hands and kissed them as before, and then, stooping lower in response to the unspoken appeal which she read in his eyes, she kissed him on the forehead.
"Heart's dearest!" he murmured fondly. "How good you are to me!"
"Sleep well," she said, as lightly as she could as she stepped softly from the room.
The doctor was waiting outside. "Is he quiet?" he asked anxiously.