"I'm afraid it's all over with your poor young friend, Miss. She was taken suddenly bad at ten o'clock last night--with an hæmorrhage. Dr. Wilmot was here all night. I saw the day-nurse for a minute just now, as she was taking up her own breakfast tray--they're always short-handed in this house, Signor Canincio being that mean--and the nurse says her young lady's a little better this morning--but she'll never leave her bed again. She's quite sensible, and she doesn't think she's dangerously ill, even now, and all her thought is to prevent her father worrying about her. Worrying! Nurse says he sits near her bedroom door, with his face hidden in his hands, listening and waiting, as still as if he were made of stone." "Would they let me see her?" Vera asked. "I think not, Miss. She's to be kept very quiet, and not to be allowed to speak." Vera went down to the corridor, directly she was dressed, and sat there, near the _salon_ doors, waiting patiently, on the chance of seeing one of the nurses, or Miss Thompson. She would not thrust herself upon Signor Provana's sorrow even by so much as an inquiry or a message; but she liked to wait at his door--to be near if Giulia wanted her. They had been like sisters, in these few weeks that seemed so long a space in her life; and she felt as if she were losing a sister. She had been sitting there nearly an hour when Signor Provana came out with a packet of letters for the post. He had been obliged to answer the business letters of the morning. The machinery of his life could not be stopped for an hour, for any reason, not even if his only child were dying. There was a look in his face that froze Vera's heart. What the nurse had said of him was true. He was like a man turned to stone. He took no notice of Vera. He did not see her, though he passed close to her, as he went downstairs to post his letters--a matter too important to be trusted to a servant. Vera was standing at the end of the corridor when he came back, and this time he saw her, and stopped to speak. "Ah, Miss Davis, the hour I have foreseen for a long time has come. I have thought of it every day of my life, and I have dreamt of it a hundred times; but the reality is worse than my worst dream." He was passing her, and turned back. "We dare not let her speak--every breath is precious. To-day she must see no one but her nurse--not even me; but if she should be a shade better to-morrow, will you come to her? I know she will want to see you." "I will come at any hour, night or day. I hope you know how dearly I love her," Vera answered, and then broke down completely and sobbed aloud. When she uncovered her face Provana was gone, and she went slowly back to the upper floor, where Grannie was waiting for her to sympathise with her indignation at certain offensive--or supposed to be offensive--remarks in the letters of a sister-in-law, a niece, and a dear friend.