s white, it was true, but it had all the appearance of being
prematurely so, and it seemed out of keeping with his skin, which was
smooth and unlined. His eyes were clear and bright, almost like those
of a boy; while there was a ring, a freshness in his voice which was
much more in accord with early manhood than with maturity. His
weakness was very evident to her observant eyes, but she saw also that
he was by nature one of those in whom the spirit would always rise
above bodily weakness, and in whom distress of mind would destroy more
inevitably than bodily ailment. It was easy to see reason in the
doctor's statement that in his present condition any disappointment
would be fatal. He was upheld by his heart's joy in their reunion.

Certain words came into the girl's mind, although where she had heard
them or read them she could not remember--

"Love is a flame, and at that flame
I light my torch of life."

The torch was burning with a clear white light, but the end of light
would mean also the end of life. Quite involuntarily she gave a little
sigh for the pity of it all, and in a second he opened his eyes, which
had been closed.

"Don't sigh, my sweet," he said tenderly; "I cannot bear you should be
unhappy for a moment, especially when I know you are unhappy because of
me."

"I am not unhappy," she replied. "Did I sigh? If so it was quite
unconsciously. Perhaps you should rest a little now. Don't you think
you could sleep? I think the doctor would feel I had been here long
enough."

"You will come again soon?" he pleaded.

"To-morrow," she said, rising. "Now, mind, you are not to doubt or to
worry yourself. I shall come to-morrow, and every day so long as you
want me. To-morrow I will read to you if you ought not to talk, and I
shall hope to see you ever so much stronger." She paused. This was
the difficult moment, and she was quite aware of it.

He took her hands and kissed them as before, and then, stooping lower
in response to the unspoken appeal which she read in his eyes, she
kissed him on the forehead.

"Heart's dearest!" he murmured fondly. "How good you are to me!"

"Sleep well," she said, as lightly as she could as she stepped softly
from the room.

The doctor was waiting outside. "Is he quiet?" he asked anxiously.

"Perfectly quiet, and, I think, inclined to sleep," she answered. "I
have promised him to come again to-morrow."

"You might come for a little while both