It was a warm, bright evening, one of those soft, sunny winter days which one so often experiences in sheltered Torquay, when Jean, having sent her things down by Davis, the under chauffeur, put on her neat little velvet hat and her black, tailor-made coat, and carrying her business-like nursing-bag, went into the huge drawing-room, where she had learnt from Jenner the Earl was reading. The big, luxurious, heavily-gilded apartment was empty, but the long, French windows were open upon the stone terrace, and upon one of the white iron garden chairs the Earl, a smart, neatly-dressed figure in black morning coat, widely braided in the French manner--a fashion he usually affected--sat reading. Jean walked to the window, bag in hand, and paused for a few seconds, looking at him in silence. Then, as their eyes met and he rose quickly to his feet, she advanced with outstretched hand to wish him farewell. CHAPTER XVIII. LORD BRACONDALE'S CONFESSION. "What!" he cried, with a look of dismay upon his pale face. "Are you really leaving, nurse?" "Yes, Lord Bracondale. I have already sent my things back to the convent. I have come to wish you good-bye." "To wish me good-bye!" he echoed blankly, looking her straight in the face. "How can I ever thank you--how can I ever repay you for all your kindness, care, and patience with me? Sir Evered says that I owe my life to your good nursing." She smiled. "I think Sir Evered is merely paying me an undeserved compliment," was her modest reply. He had taken her small, white hand in his, and for a moment he stood mute before her, overcome with gratitude. "Sir Evered has spoken the truth, Nurse Jean," he said. "I know it, and you yourself know it. In all these weeks we have been together we have begun to know each other, we have been companions, and--and you have many a time cheered me when I felt in blank despair." "I am very pleased if I have been able to bring you happiness," she replied. "It is sometimes difficult to infuse gaiety into a sick-room." "But you have brought me new life, new hope, new light into my dull, careworn life," he declared quickly. "Since I found you at my bedside I have become a different man." "How?" she asked, very seriously. "You have inspired in me new hopes, new aspirations--and a fresh ambition." "Of what?" He raised her ungloved hand and kissed it fervently. She tried to snatch it away, but he held it fast, and, looking into her dark, startled eyes, replied: "Of making you my wife, Jean." "Your wife!" she gasped, her face pale in an instant, as she drew back, astounded at the suggestion. "Yes. Listen to me!" he cried, quickly, still holding her hand, and drawing her to him as he stepped into the huge room upholstered with pale blue silk. "This is no sudden fancy on my part, Jean. I have watched you--watched you for days and weeks--for gradually I came to know how deeply attached I had become to you--that I love you!"