“Of course I do not expect that you will go alone,” Dr. Winthrop continued; “I will find other nurses to help you if they can be had, if you will but superintend the care of my friends. I can trust you fully and shall feel that nothing will be neglected under your supervision.” The gentle nun did not reply immediately. She seemed to be gravely considering the matter; but Mr. Tillinghast, who alone could see anything of her face, was sure that he saw a vivid crimson shoot up and lose itself under her ugly bandages as if the proposition was a very distasteful one to her. “Yes, monsieur, I will go,” she at last replied in her usual quiet tones; then she turned back to the bedside and went on feeding her charge though he thought her hand trembled slightly on its way from the plate to the mouth. “I believe I should have died but for you, Sister Angela,” the young man said, when he had finished his breakfast. “I am very grateful. I shall bless you always. Is there not something I can do for you to prove it?” “Nothing, monsieur; my wants are very few and I need no proof,” she answered, but her voice was not quite steady he thought. “I am sorry,” he said gratefully, “for I should be glad to make some thankoffering. My friend tells me that you are called the ‘Angel in Gray,’ here in the hospital; you have surely proved yourself such to me; may you live long to bless others with your gentle ministrations.” Again a flush swept over what was visible of her face, and her lips parted with a sigh that was something like a sob. “The poor creature has known some heavy sorrow,” the young man thought; “perhaps that was what drove her to be a nun. I wonder how old she is; nobody can tell with all that cotton-cloth wound about her head and face. She may be forty for all I can tell, but she seems a refined lady. Her voice is sweet and low and cultured; her movements are graceful yet dignified, and her hands are small and beautifully formed.” He continued to watch her curiously while she busied herself about some last cares for his comfort, and then she came to take leave of him, as Dr. Winthrop was anxious to start at once for the villa. “Good-by,” the invalid said, with emotion; “I hope I shall see you some time again, Sister Angela, but if I do not I shall always hold you in grateful remembrance.” She bowed her head in acknowledgment of his gratitude, murmured a benediction over him, and then passed quietly out of the room with Dr. Winthrop. The young physician felt greatly relieved because she had acceded to his request and tried to express his thanks, but she cut him short in the midst of them. “Thanks are unnecessary, monsieur; it is my work, my duty,” she said. “I go to one, then to another, wherever I am most needed.” “But I think you are hardly strong enough for such work; it is too hard, too wearing for your slight frame.”