At last, with an impatient movement, with a blush of shame for the way in which her mind was dwelling on him, she left the window and fell on her knees at the narrow bed to say her prayers. But his personality intruded even on her devotions, and, half unconsciously, she added to her simple formula a supplication for his recovery. Then she got into bed and fell asleep. But in a very little while she started awake, seeing the horse shy and fall, feeling the man's head upon her lap. She sat up and listened. His room was beneath hers--the cottage was built in the usual thin and unsubstantial fashion--and every sound from the room below rose to hers. She heard him moan; once, twice; then his voice, thick and husky, called for water. She listened. The faint cry rose again and again. She could not endure it, and she got out of bed, put on her dressing gown, and slipped down the stairs. She could hear the voice more plainly now, and the cry was still, "Water! water!" She opened the door, and, pausing a moment, her face crimson, stole toward the bed. Molly was in her chair, with her head lolling over the back, as if it were a guillotine, her huge mouth wide open, fast asleep. Nell stood and looked down at the unconscious man. The dark-brown hair was tangled, the white face drawn with pain, the lips dry with fever, one hand, clenched, opening and shutting spasmodically, on the counterpane. That divine pity which only a woman can feel filled and overran her heart. She poured some water into a glass and set it to his lips. He could not drink lying down, and, with difficulty, she raised his head on her bosom. He drank long and greedily; then, as she slowly--dare one write "reluctantly"?--lowered his head to the pillow, he muttered: "Thanks, thanks, Luce! That was good!" CHAPTER III. "Luce!" It was a strange name--the name of a woman, of course. Nell wondered whether it was his sister--or sweetheart? Perhaps it was his wife? She waited for some minutes; then she woke Molly, and returned to her own room. Drake Vernon was unconscious for some days, and Nell often stole in and stood beside the bed; sometimes she changed the ice bandages, or gave him something to drink. He wandered and talked a great deal, but it was incoherent talk, in which the names of the persons he whispered or shouted were indistinguishable. On the fourth day he recovered consciousness, but was terribly weak, and the doctor would not permit Mrs. Lorton to enter the room. He put his objection very cleverly. "I have to think of you, my dear madame," he said. "I don't want two patients on my hands in the same house. Talk him back into delirium!" he added to himself. All these days Mrs. Lorton continued to "hush," Nell went about with a grave air of suspense, and Dick--it is not given to this historian to describe the state of mind into which incessant repression drove that youth.