he kind woman
whom he had come to regard as a sort of strong, protective force between
him and anguish, without any desire to give it a name, or realize an
individual. But now he saw that he had been nursed by hands as refined as
they were skilful, and he dimly perceived that he owed his life mainly to
the wholly impersonal yet absorbed devotion of two women--gentle,
firm-faced, women--who had fought death for him and won. Just a
professional service for a professional fee; yet his debt was
measureless. These are the things, he feebly understood, that women do
for men; and what had been mere hearsay to his strong manhood had become
experience.

Actually a ray of sunshine had been allowed to penetrate the shaded room.
He watched it enchanted. Flowers were on the table near him. There was a
delicious sense of warmth and summer scents.

"Where am I?" He turned his bandaged head stiffly toward the nurse beside
him.

"In Threlfall Tower--the house of Mr. Edmund Melrose," she said, bending
over him.

The nurse saw him smile.

"That's queer. What happened?"

His companion gave him a short account of the accident and of Undershaw's
handling of it. Then she refused to let her patient talk any more, and
left him with instructions not to tire his head with trying to remember.
He lay disconnectedly dreaming. A stream of clear water, running shallow
over greenish pebbles and among stones, large and small--and some white
things floating on it. The recollection teased him, and a slight headache
warned him to put it aside. He tried to go to sleep.

Suddenly, there floated into view a face vaguely seen, a girl's figure,
in a blue dress, against a background of mountain. Who was it?--where had
he come across her?

A few days later, when, for the first time, he was sitting up raised on
pillows, and had been allowed to lift a shaking hand to help the nurse's
hand as it guided a cup of soup to his lips, she said to him in her low,
pleasant voice:

"Several people have been to inquire for you to-day. I'll bring you the
cards."

She fetched them from a table near and read the names. "Lord Tatham, and
his mother, Lady Tatham. They've sent you flowers every day. These are
Duddon roses." She held up a glass vase before him. "Mrs. Penfold and
Miss Penfold."

He shook his head feebly.

"Don't know any of them."

Nurse Aston laughed at him.

"Oh, yes, you do. Lord Tatham was at college with you. He's coming to see
you one day s