"Poor dear!" said the nurse, after a glance at the patient, "how she does love him! Ah, miss, how you made me jump!" "Did I, nurse?" said Katrine. "I was obliged to come in gently. How is he?" "Better, miss, I think." "That's well. You look very tired, nurse." "Me, miss? Oh, dear, no." "But your strength ought to be saved for nights. I can't watch at night--I get too sleepy; but I can now, and I'll take your place." "Do you really wish it, miss?" "Yes. Please," said Katrine, firmly; and the woman quietly left the room, to take no walk, but to go up to the chamber set apart for her use, and, from long habit in catching rest when it could be found, she threw herself upon her bed, and was soon breathing heavily--fast asleep. In the adjoining room lay Lydia, with her eyes closed, hour after hour, but painfully awake. No sleep would come to her weary brain, which seemed to grow more terribly active as the time rolled on. She told herself that her love for Capel was madness. Then hope tortured her with the idea that he might turn to her, while her indignant maiden nature bade her forget him and show more pride. "But he is poor," Hope seemed to say; "his fortune is gone, and you are comparatively wealthy. Wait, and he will love you yet." There was a hopeful smile dawning upon her lips, as she softly left her room, and went down the stairs, with a feeling of restful content in her breast, and then her heart seemed to stand still, and a horrible feeling of self-reproach attacked her as she felt that she had left her post just as some terrible crisis had been about to happen. For there, at the door where she had crouched in agony, waiting to know the great physician's verdict, now stood Gerard Artis, gazing in as he held it partly open. Lydia was as if turned to stone for the moment. Then the reaction came, and she quickly ran to the door, to lay her hand upon Artis's shoulder. He turned upon her a face distorted with jealous rage, and then his countenance changed, and, indulging in a malicious laugh, he drew on one side, holding the curtain back, and pointed mockingly to the scene within. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. AN ENCOUNTER. One swift glance, and then, without noticing Artis, Lydia glided into the room. She had seen her hope crushed, and that she must never dream again of that happy future. She had not slept, but she had left her post, and while she had been absent another had stolen that last hope. For, after lying sleeping calmly and peacefully for an hour, Capel heaved a long sigh, and at last he opened his eyes, in a quiet, dreamy way, gazing at, but apparently not seeing, Katrine, as she knelt there in the light cast by the window. Then she saw a look of intelligence come into his face, and he spoke in a quiet and eager, though feeble tone. "What is it? Why--why am I here? Don't--don't speak. Yes, I know. Oh, Katrine, my love, my love!"