She fell back wearily.
“Perhaps you would like to arrange the terms between yourselves,” said the landlady. “Here is a chair. I will be back presently.”
Gregory sat down, with bent head and quick breath. She did not speak, and lay with half-closed eyes, seeming to have forgotten him.
“Will you turn the lamp down a little?” she said at last; “I cannot bear the light.”
Then his heart grew braver in the shadow, and he spoke. Nursing was to him, he said, his chosen life’s work. He wanted no money if— She stopped him.
“I take no service for which I do not pay,” she said. “What I gave to my last nurse I will give to you; if you do not like it you may go.”
And Gregory muttered humbly, he would take it.
Afterward she tried to turn herself. He lifted her! Ah! a shrunken little body, he could feel its weakness as he touched it. His hands were to him glorified for what they had done.
“Thank you! that is so nice. Other people hurt me when they touch me,” she said. “Thank you!” Then after a little while she repeated humbly, “Thank you; they hurt me so.”
Gregory sat down trembling. His little ewe-lamb, could they hurt her?