"No, I can't do that; but it would be very kind of you: that is, if you have no objection." "None in the world; we must get Rebecca to make broth, or whatever else the doctor may order, and shall I mention your name to Mrs. Prichard? I mean, do you wish the patient--shall we call him--to know that you are here?" "Oh! no, pray. He is the last person on earth----" "You are sure?" "Perfectly. I entreat, dear Ethel, that you run no risk of my name being mentioned." "Why, Mr. Marston knows that you are here," I said persistently. "Bad as that was, this would be intolerable. I know, Ethel, I may rely on you." "Well, I won't say a word--I won't mention your name, since you so ordain it." Two or three days passed. As I had been the good Samaritan, in female garb, who aided the wounded man in his distress, I was now the visiting Sister of Mercy, the ministering angel--whatever you are good enough to call me--who every day saw after his wants, and sent, sometimes soup, and sometimes jelly, to favour the recovery of which the doctor spoke so sanguinely. I did not feel the romantic interest I ought perhaps to have felt in the object of my benevolence. I had no wish to see his face again. I was haunted by a recollection of him that was ghastly. I am not wanting in courage, physical or moral. But I should have made a bad nurse, and a worse soldier; at the sight of blood I immediately grow faint, and a sense of indescribable disgust remains. I sometimes think we women are perverse creatures. For there is an occult interest about the guilty and audacious, if it be elevated by masculine courage and beauty, and surrounded by ever so little of mystery and romance. Shall I confess it? The image of that wicked Mr. Marston, notwithstanding all Laura's hard epithets, and the startling situation in which I had seen him last, haunted me often, and with something more of fascination than I liked to confess. Let there be energy, cleverness, beauty, and I believe a reckless sort of wickedness will not stand the least in the way of a foolish romance. I think I had energy; I know I was impetuous. Insipid or timid virtue would have had no chance with me.