"She has outlived all her friends; that is to say, she has outlived their recollection of her. Nothing so easily forgotten as the trace of people we once knew, but who can no longer be of use to us, or administer to our vanity, our pleasure, or our amusement. I was at a cemetery the other day, and saw there an enormous and magnificent tombstone which a man had ordered to be erected over his wife; but before the order had been executed the man had married again, declined to pay for his extravagance in mortuary sculpture, and contented himself with a simple headstone. And the gardener told me that it is very seldom that the floral graves are kept up beyond the first twelve months. So it is not likely that in this, which, to such poor creatures as Madame Vaughan, is not much better than a living tomb, the occupants should be held in any long remembrance." "I'm sure it's very kind of the Doctor to take such care of these poor creatures, Mr. George; more especially when he's not paid for it." "That is not the case with Madame Vaughan. I think--in fact, I'm sure--she was one of the patients of my father's predecessor, and was made over to him on the transfer of the business; but though she has no friends to come and see her, the sum for her maintenance here is regularly discharged by a firm of solicitors who have money in trust for the purpose, and by whom it has been paid from the first." "And is there nothing known of her history, Mr. George; who were her friends, or where she came from?" "Nothing now. Dr. Bulph, I suppose, had some sort of information; but he was an odd man, and so long as his half-yearly bills were paid, did not trouble himself much further, I fancy." "Lord, what a life!" said Miss Marshall, casting a sidelong glance at the little looking-glass over the mantelpiece, and smoothing her hair. "And it will end here, I suppose? The Doctor does not think she will ever be cured, Mr. George?" "No, indeed!" said George, shaking his head. "And if she were, what would become of her? She has been here for nearly twenty years, and the outer world would be as strange and as impossible to her as it was to the released prisoner of the Bastille, who prayed to be taken back to his dungeon." "Ah well, I should pray to be taken to my grave," said the practical Miss Marshall, "if I thought no one cared for me----" "Ah, now you're talking of an impossibility, Miss Marshall," said George, rising. "If ever I have a necessity to expose the absurdity of that saying which advances the necessity for 'beauty sleep,' I shall bring you forward as my example; for you're never in bed by midnight, and are often up all night; and yet I should like to see anyone who could rival you in briskness or freshness. Goodnight, Miss Marshall." "Goodnight, Mr. George." As he rose, shook hands, and taking up his lamp made his way across the garden, the nurse looked after him with a pleased expression, and said to herself: