"That is all settled," he said; "don't you trouble your head about anything. Sister Margaret has instructions to arrange everything for you." And May found that Sister Margaret had instructions to go out and purchase everything she required in the way of dress or outfit. She was a nice, kind, sensible woman, whose own brow was not unlined with sorrow, and she felt great pity for the poor young widow--so May was supposed to be in the hospital--whom she had nursed through her grievous illness. She was also instructed to ask Mrs. Church no questions regarding her past life. "She has had great troubles; let her try to forget them," the doctor told the nurse. "She has youth to help her, and thinking of the past will do her no good." Ralph Webster saw May again before she left town for Hastings, but when she tried to thank him for all he had done for her he would not listen. To do anything for her indeed was his greatest happiness. But he tried to hide this, and did hide the strong, deep feelings of his heart. But a painful incident occurred before he parted with her. Webster noticed that May was agitated, and suddenly her delicate skin flushed, and with quivering lips she asked him a question: "Have you," she said, in a broken voice, "seen or heard anything of--him?" Webster hesitated, but he saw it was only cruel to prolong her suspense. "I have heard nothing," he answered, "of Mr. Temple; except I know a person who saw him one day." "Then he is still in London!" cried May, with deep emotion; "still--he must have made inquiries--he--he was sure to make inquiries--but no doubt he believes me dead. It is best that he should believe me dead!" She suddenly broke down and burst into passionate sobs. In vain Webster entreated her to try and compose herself. It seemed as though the flood-gate of her emotion was let loose, and the long strain of silence broken. "I am dead!" she kept on repeating; "dead to every one; no one knows I live but you." "And yet you pain me so deeply," said Webster, in a low tone. "Forgive me," sobbed May, "but I thought I would ask." "Hush, hush! try not to think of all this. A new life is opening to you; try to go into it with a brave heart. Believe me, there is nothing like work; it deadens pain." There was an irrepressible ring of sadness in his voice as he said the last words, which told of his own hard struggle, the struggle of which May knew nothing. But something in his voice made her dry her tears and look at him. He was very pale, and his face had grown thinner and more marked, she noticed, and her heart reproached her for adding to his troubles. "Forgive me for being so selfish," she said, gently; "I--will not give way any more. But have you been ill? You do not look very well." "I have been too hard-worked, I suppose," answered Webster, trying to smile. "I shall go down to Hastings for a day's holiday while you are there, and that will freshen me up. And now, is there anything else I can do for you?"