This, then, is the “other person” dimly alluded to by our host! I think directly of the heroic conduct of Miss Dunross among her poor and afflicted neighbors; and I do not forget the melancholy result of her devotion to others which has left her an incurable invalid. My anxiety to see this lady more plainly increases a hundred-fold. I beg her to add to my grateful sense of her kindness by telling me why the room is so dark “Surely,” I say, “it cannot be night already?”
“You have not been asleep,” she answers, “for more than two hours. The mist has disappeared, and the sun is shining.”
I take up the bell, standing on the table at my side.
“May I ring for Peter, Miss Dunross?”
“To open the curtains, Mr. Germaine?”
“Yes—with your permission. I own I should like to see the sunlight.”
“I will send Peter to you immediately.”
The shadowy figure of my new nurse glides away. In another moment, unless I say something to stop her, the woman whom I am so eager to see will have left the room.
“Pray don’t go!” I say. “I cannot think of troubling you to take a trifling message for me. The servant will come in, if I only ring the bell.”
She pauses—more shadowy than ever—halfway between the bed and the door, and answers a little sadly: