Valencia heard all this as in a dream; and watched her chattering brother with a stupefied air. She comprehended all now; and bitterly she blamed herself. He had really loved her, then; set himself manfully to die at his post, that he might forget her in a better world. How shamefully she had trifled with that noble heart! How should she ever meet--how have courage to look him in the face? And not love, or anything like love, but sacred pity and self-abasement filled her heart, as his fair, delicate face rose up before her, all wan and shrunken, with sad upbraiding eyes; and round it such a halo, pure and pale, as crowns, in some old German picture, a martyr's head. "He has had the cholera! he has been actually dying?" asked she at last, with that strange wish to hear over again bad news, which one knows too well already. "Of course he has. Why, you are not going away, Valencia? You need not be afraid of infection. Campbell, and Thurnall, too, says that's all nonsense; and they must know, having seen it so often. Here comes Bowie at last with supper!" "Has Mr. Headley had anything to eat?" asked Valencia, who longed to run away to her own room, but dared not. "He is eating now like any ged, ma'am; and Major Campbell's making him eat too." "He must be very ill," thought she, "for mon Saint Père never to have come near us yet:" and then she thought with terror that her Saint Père might have guessed the truth, and be angry with her. And yet she trusted in Frank's secrecy. He would not betray her. Take care, Valencia. When a woman has to trust a man not to betray her, and does trust him, she may soon find it not only easy, but necessary, to do more than trust him. However, in five minutes Campbell came in. Valencia saw at once that there was no change in his feelings to her: but he could talk of nothing but Headley, his self-devotion, courage, angelic gentleness, and humility; and every word of his praise was a fresh arrow in Valencia's conscience; at last,-- "One knows well enough what is the matter," said he, almost bitterly-- "what is the matter, I sometimes think, with half the noblest men in the world, and nine-tenths of the noblest women; and with many a one, too, God help them! who is none of the noblest, and therefore does not know how to take the bitter cup, as he knows--" "What does the philosopher mean now?" asked Scoutbush, looking up from the cold lamb. Valencia knew but too well what he meant. "He has a history, my dear lord." "A history? What! is he writing a book?" Campbell laughed a quiet under-laugh, half sad, half humorous. "I am very tired," said Valencia; "I really think I shall go to bed."