"You do not like my son Neil?" "Like him, sir!" she cried, with her face flushing; "I think him the truest, noblest gentleman I ever met." "Ah! And yet, feeling like that, you refused him?" "Yes, sir, it is impossible." Ralph Elthorne lay watching her, and she met his searching gaze without blanching, her soft grey eyes slightly clouded by the tears which rose and gathered till they brimmed over and one great drop slowly trickled down her cheek. "And my son Alison?--he was attracted by you too. What of him?" "Mr Alison Elthorne has followed me from the day I came, sir, and proffered his love." "And you have turned a deaf ear to him as well?" "Of course, sir," she said coldly. "And he, too, has given up, I suppose?" "No, sir." "It is no more than I expected from such a woman as you, nurse," said Elthorne, after another pause. "But there is a reason for all this. Forgive me: it is an old and broken man who speaks; there must be a reason." "Yes, Mr Elthorne," she said, and her clear musical voice seemed to fill the room; "there is a reason--a good reason--for all this." "May I know it?" "Yes; why not? Some women love but once." "Ah!" he said, and he took her hand. "Then you have loved--in the past?" "Yes." She paused in turn, while he waited patiently, expectant that she would continue. "Ask me no more, Mr Elthorne. I gave my trusting, girlish heart to one I believed good and noble, but I was rudely awakened from my dream; and, after a long illness, I devoted myself to the task of trying to help those in sore need of a woman's hand, sometimes to nurse them back to life, sometimes--ah, too often!--to close their eyes in death. Ask me no more." He raised her hand reverently to his lips, and then let it fall. "I will ask you no more," he said gently; and they sat in silence for a time. "_L'homme propose, et Dieu dispose_," he said at last thoughtfully. "I have spent much of my time in planning, but too often my plans have been brought to naught. Nurse, I give up now; I will only try to do what is right while I stay. It will be a grief and will bring more suffering to me, but it is not just to you that I should keep you here." "No, sir. I am waiting patiently, hoping that I may soon be set free to return to my work. You are well enough now to require only the assistance of your child and your sister. Give me leave now to go. I would gladly stay longer, but there is no need." "No," he said after a time, "there is no real need. You must go." She rose and stood before him, gazing down at him pityingly, as he lay there, aged by ten years since she came. "Good-bye, sir," she said softly. "What!" he cried, "going now?" "Better that I should go at once, sir. You will soon become accustomed to another hand. Let me take yours once, and thank you for all your kindness. I think you understand me, though I have failed with your sister. Good-bye."