Heathcote was so much better that only July was to watch that night; Diana was to enjoy an unbroken night's rest, with a pillow and a blanket upon the hay in the barn. July went out to arrange this bed for his wife, and then, as the patient was for the moment left alone, Anne stole down from her loft to keep her promise. "Good-night," she murmured, bending over him. "Do not keep me, good-night." He drew her toward him, but, laughing lightly and happily, she slipped from his grasp and was gone. When July returned, there was no one there but his patient, who did not have so quiet a night as they had anticipated, being restless, tormented apparently by troubled dreams. CHAPTER XXVI. "My only wickedness is that I love you; my only goodness, the same."--ANONYMOUS. "A Durwaish in his prayer said: 'O God, show kindness toward the wicked; for on the good Thou hast already bestowed kindness enough by having created them virtuous.'"--SAADI. Anne passed the next day in the same state of vivid happiness. The mere joy of the present was enough for her; she thought not as yet of the future, of next month, next week, or even to-morrow. It sufficed that they were there together, and free without wrong to love each other. During the morning there came no second chance for their being alone, and Heathcote grew irritated as the slow hours passed. Farmer Redd esteemed it his duty, now that he was at home again, to entertain his guest whenever, from his open eyes, he judged him ready for conversation; and Mrs. Redd, July, and Diana seemed to have grown into six persons at least, from their continuous appearances at the door. At last, about five o'clock, Anne was left alone in the room, and his impatient eyes immediately summoned her. Smiling at his irritation, she sat down by the bedside and took up the fan. "You need not do that," he said; "or rather, yes, do. It will keep you here, at any rate. Where _have_ you been all day?" They could talk in low tones unheard; but through the open door Mrs. Redd and Diana were visible, taking down clothes from the line. Heathcote watched them for a moment, and then looked at his nurse with silent wistfulness. "But it is a great happiness merely to be together," said Anne, answering the look in words. "Yes, I know it; but yet-- Tell me, Anne, do you love me?" "You know I do; in truth, you have told me you knew it more times than was generous," she answered, almost gayly. She was fairly light-hearted now with happiness. "That is not what I want. Look at me and tell me; do, dear." He spoke urgently, almost feverishly; a sombre restless light burned in his eyes.