Then his heart grew braver in the shadow, and he spoke. Nursing was to him, he said, his chosen life’s work. He wanted no money: if — — She stopped him.

“I take no service for which I do not pay,” she said.

“What I gave to my last nurse I will give to you; if you do not like it you may go.”

And Gregory muttered humbly he would take it.

Afterward she tried to turn herself. He lifted her. Ah! a shrunken little body, he could feel its weakness as he touched it. His hands were to him glorified for what they had done.

“Thank you! that is so nice. Other people hurt me when they touch me,” she said. “Thank you!” Then after a little while she repeated humbly, “Thank you; they hurt me so.”

Gregory sat down trembling. His little ewe-lamb, could they hurt her?

The doctor said of Gregory four days after, “She is the most experienced nurse I ever came in contact with.”

Gregory, standing in the passage, heard it, and laughed in his heart. What need had he of experience? Experience teaches us in a millenium what passion teaches us in an hour. A Kaffir studies all his life the discerning of distant sounds; but he will never hear my step, when my love hears it, coming to her window in the dark over the short grass.

At first Gregory’s heart was sore when day by day the body grew lighter, and the mouth he fed took less; but afterward he grew accustomed to it, and was happy. For passion has one cry, one only — “Oh, to touch thee, Beloved!”

In that quiet room Lyndall lay on the bed with the dog at her feet, and Gregory sat in his dark corner watching.

She seldom slept, and through those long, long days she would lie watching the round streak of sunlight that came through the knot in the shutter, or the massive lion’s paw on which the wardrobe rested. What thoughts were in those eyes? Gregory wondered; he dared not ask.

Sometimes Doss where he lay on her feet would dream that they two were in the cart, tearing over the “veld,” with the black horses snorting, and the wind in their faces; and he would start up in his sleep and bark aloud. Then awaking he would lick his mistress’ hand almost remorsefully and slink quietly down into his place.

Gregory thought she had no pain, she never groaned; only sometimes, when the light was near her, he thought he could see slight contractions about her lips and eyebrows.

He slept on the sofa outside her door.

One night he thought he heard a sound, and, opening it softly, he looked in. She was crying out aloud, as if she and her pain were alone in the world. The light fell on the red quilt, and the little hands that were clasped over the head. The wide-open eyes were looking up, and the heavy drops fell slowly from them.