"I know, my beloved. And there is another that knows. He knows all. Can't you leave the matter to him?"
"I must."
"Must is a hard word. Let Jesus appoint, and let you and me obey; because we love Him, and are His."
He was silent, and so was I then; the words trooping in a sort of grand procession through some distant part of my brain - "All things are yours; whether life, or death, or the world, or things present, or things to come; all are yours; and ye are Christ's; and Christ is God's." I knew they swept by there, in their sweetness and their majesty; I could not lay hold of them to make them dwell with me then.
A few days went past, filled with duty as usual; more filled with a consuming desire which had taken possession of me, to know really how Mr. Thorold was and what were the prospects of his recovery. His face always looked clear and well; I thought his wounds were not specially painful; I never saw any sign that they were; the dressing of them was always borne very quietly. That was not uncommon, but involuntary tokens of pain were sometimes wrung from the sufferers; a sigh, or a knit brow, or a pale cheek, or a clinched hand, gave one sorrowful knowledge often that the heroism of patient courage was more severely tested in the hospital than on the field. I never saw any of these signs in Mr. Thorold. In spite of myself, a hope began to spring and grow in my heart, which at the first seeing of him in that place I had thought dead altogether. And then I could not rest short of certainty. But how to get any light at all on the subject was a question. The other nurse could not tell me, for she knew no more than myself; not so much, for she rarely nursed Mr. Thorold. Dr. Sandford never told how his patients were doing or likely to do; if he were asked, he evaded the answer. What we were to do, he told explicitly, carefully; the issue of our cares he left it to time and fact to show. So what was I to do? Moreover, I did not wish to let him see that I had any, the least, solicitude for one case more than the rest. And another thing, I dreaded unspeakably to make the appeal and have my doubts solved. With the one difficulty and the other before me, I let day after day go by; day after day; during which I saw as much of Mr. Thorold as I could, and watched him with intense eyes. But I was able to resolve nothing; only I thought his appetite grew poorer than it had been, while that of many others was improving. We had some chance for talk during those days; by snatches, I told him a good deal of the history of my European life; and he gave me details of his life in camp and field. We lived very close to each other all that time, though outward communication was so restricted. Hearts have their own way of communicating, - and spirits are not wholly shut in by flesh and blood. But as the days went by, my anxiety and suspense began to glow unendurable.
So I followed Dr. Sandford one morning to his den, as he called it.
"Are you getting tired of hospital life?" he asked me? with a smile. "I see you want to speak to me."
"You know I am not tired."
"I know you are not. There is something in a woman that likes suffering, I think, if only she can lay her hand on it and relieve it."
"That is making it a very selfish business, Dr. Sandford."