dismay, Giles's face darkened, and he dropped my hand.

'Never say that to me again, if you love me, Ursula,' he said, in such
a grieved voice that I could hardly bear to hear it. 'Do you think I
would have married you if you had been handsome? Do you know what you
are talking about, child? Has no one told you about Ella?'

'Oh yes,' I returned, terrified at his sternness, for he had never spoken
to me in such a tone before. 'Yes, indeed, and I know she was very
beautiful.'

'She was perfectly lovely,'--in the same hard voice. Oh, how he must have
suffered, my poor Giles! 'And the memory of that false loveliness has
made me loathe the idea of beauty ever since. No, I would never have let
myself love you if you had been handsome, Ursula.'

'I am glad I am not,' I returned, in a choked voice, for all this was
very painful to me. Something in my tone attracted his notice, for he
stooped and looked in my face, and his manner instantly changed.

'Oh, you foolish child,' very caressingly, 'there are actually tears in
your eyes! You are not afraid of me, Ursula? I am always excited when I
speak of Ella: she very nearly destroyed my faith in women.'

'I cannot bear to think how you suffered,' I faltered, but he would not
let me finish.

'Never mind; you have been my healer; you have always rested me so. Never
call yourself plain again in my hearing. No other face could be half so
dear to me.' And then, with his old smile, 'Do you know, dear, when I saw
you in that velvet gown at your cousin's wedding you looked so handsome
that I went home in a bad humour, and then Etta told me about Tudor.
Well, I have you safe now.' But I will not transcribe all Giles's speech;
it was so lover-like, it made me understand, once for all, what I was to
him, and how little he cared for life unless I shared it with him.

By and by he went on to speak of our mutual work, and here again he more
than contented me.

'I do not mean to rob the poor people of their nurse, Ursula,' he said
presently. 'When you come to Gladwyn as its mistress, I hope we shall
work together as we do now.'

I told him I hoped so too; that I never wished to lay down my work.

'You are quite right, dear,' he answered cheerfully. 'We will not be
selfish in our happiness. True, your work must be in limits. When I come
home I shall want to see my wife's face. No,' rather jealously, 'I could
not spare you of an evening, and in the morning there will be household
duties