.

Bracondale noticed that she shivered, but, ignorant of the reason, only
drew her closer to him.

"Tell me, Jean," he whispered. "May I hope? Now that you are leaving, I
cannot bear that you should go out of my life for ever. I am no young
lover, full of flowery speeches, but I love you as fervently, as
ardently, as any man has ever loved a woman; and if you will be mine I
will endeavour to make you contented and happy to all the extent I am
able."

"But, Lord Bracondale," she protested, raising her fine eyes to his, "I
am unworthy--I----"

"You are worthy, Jean," he declared, earnestly. "You are the only woman
in all my life that I have loved. For all these years I have been a
bachelor, self-absorbed in the affairs of the nation, in politics and
diplomacy, until, by my accident, I have suddenly realised that there is
still something more in the world to live for higher than the position I
hold as a member of the Cabinet--the love of a good woman, and you are
that woman. Tell me," he urged, speaking in a low whisper as he bent to
her, "tell me--may I hope?"

Slowly she disengaged the hand he held, and drew it across her white
brow beneath her velvet hat.

"I--I--ah! no, Lord Bracondale," she cried. "This is all very unwise.
You would soon regret."

"Regret!" he echoed. "No, I shall never regret, because, Jean, I love
you!"

"Have you ever thought that, while you are a peer and a Cabinet
Minister, I am only a nurse?"

"Social status should not be considered when a man loves a woman as
truly and devotedly as I love you. Remember, to you I owe my recovery,"
he said frankly. "In the weeks you have spent at my side I have realised
that life will now be a blank when you have left my roof. But must it be
so? Will you not take pity upon me and try to reciprocate, in even a
small degree, the great love I bear you? Do, Jean, I beg of you."

She was silent for a long time, her eyes fixed across the terrace upon
the pretty Italian garden, to the belt of high, dark firs beyond.

"You ask me this, Lord Bracondale, and yet you do not even know my
surname!" she remarked at last.

"Whatever your surname may be, it makes no difference to me," was his
reply. "Whatever skeleton may be hidden in your cupboard is no affair of
mine. I ask nothing regarding your past life. To me, you are honest and
pure. I know that, or you would not lead the life you now lead. I only
know, Jean, that I love you," and, again taking her soft h