"Why do you want me to leave him?" Frances asked, in a flash of jealous suspicion. She turned to Nola, as if to search out her hidden intention. "You were asleep in your chair when I came in, Frances," Nola chided her, gently. Again they stood in silence, looking down upon the wounded man. Frances was resentful of Nola's interest in him, of her presence in the room. She was on the point of asking her to leave when Nola spoke. "If he hadn't been so proud, if he'd only stooped to explain things to us, to talk to us, even, this could have been avoided, Frances." "What could he have said?" Frances asked, wondering, indeed, what explanation could have lessened his offense in Saul Chadron's eyes. "If I had known him, I would have understood," Nola replied, vaguely, in soft low voice, as if communing with herself. "You! Well, perhaps--perhaps even you would have understood." "Look--he moved!" "Sh-h-h! your talking disturbs him, Nola. Go to bed--you can't help me any here." "And leave him all to you!" The words flashed from Nola, as if they had sprung out of her mouth before her reason had given them permission to depart. "Of course with me; he's mine!" "If he's going to die, Frances, can't I share him with you till the end--can't I have just a little share in the care of him here with you?" Nola laid her hand on Frances' arm as she pleaded, turning her white face appealingly in the dim light. "Don't talk that way, girl!" said Frances, roughly; "you have no part in him at all--he is nothing to you." "He is all to me--everything to me! Oh, Frances! If you knew, if you knew!" "What? If I knew what?" Frances caught her arm in fierce grip, and shook her savagely. "Don't--don't--hurt me, Frances!" Nola cringed and shrank away, and lifted her arms as if to ward a blow. "What did you mean by that? Tell me--tell me!" "Oh, the way it came to me, the way it came to me as he carried me in his arms and sang to me so I wouldn't be afraid!" moaned Nola, her face hidden in her hands. "I never knew before what it was to care for anybody that way--I never, never knew before!" "You can't have this man, nor any share in him, living or dead! I gave up Major King to you; be satisfied." "Oh, Major King!" "Poor shadow that he is in comparison with a man, he'll have to serve for you. Living or dead, I tell you, this man is mine. Now go!" Nola was shaking again with sudden gust of weeping. She had sunk to the floor at the head of the couch, a white heap, her bare arms clasping her head. "It breaks my heart to see him die!" she moaned, rocking herself in her grief like a child. And child Frances felt her to be in her selfishness, a child never denied, and careless and unfeeling of the rights of others from this long indulgence. She doubted Nola's sincerity, even in the face of such demonstrative evidence. There was no pity for her, and no softness. "Get up!" Frances spoke sternly--"and go to your room."