spoken was
cold and distant rather than expressive of any concern for his welfare,
but he did not think of that. He only realized that his manner must seem
to her very unusual, since she asked such a question. An Italian would
have observed that his own face was pale, and would have told her that
he was dying of love.

"No, I am not ill," answered the Scotchman, simply, and in his most
natural tone of voice.

"Then what is the matter with you since yesterday?" asked Maria
Addolorata, less coldly, and as though she were secretly amused.

"There is nothing the matter--at least, nothing that I could explain to
you."

She sat down in the big easy-chair and, as formerly, he took his seat
opposite to her.

"There is something," she insisted, speaking thoughtfully. "You cannot
deceive a woman, Signor Doctor."

Dalrymple smiled and looked at her veiled head.

"You said the other day that I was not a man, but a doctor," he
answered. "I suppose I might answer that you are not a woman, but a
nun."

"And is not a nun a woman?" asked Maria Addolorata, and he knew that she
was smiling, too.

"You would not forgive me if I answered you," he said.

"Who knows? I might be obliged to, since I am obliged to meet you every
day. It may be a sin, but I am curious."

"Shall I tell you?"

As though instinctively, Maria was silent for a moment, and turned her
veiled face towards the abbess's door. But Dalrymple needed no such
warning to lower his voice.

"Tell me," she said, and under her veil she could feel that her eyes
were growing deep and the pupils wide and dark, and she knew that she
had done wrong.

"How should I know whether you are a saint or only a woman, since I have
never seen your face?" he asked. "I shall never know--for in a few days
Doctor Taddei will be well again, and you will not need my services."

He saw the quick tightening of one hand upon the other, and the slight
start of the head, and in a flash he knew that all Annetta had told him
was true. The silence that followed seemed longer than the awkward pause
which had preceded the conversation.

"It cannot be so soon," she said in a very low tone.

"It may be to-morrow," he answered, and to his own astonishment his
voice almost broke in his throat, and he felt that his own hands were
twisting each other, as though he were in pain. "I shall die without
seeing you," he added almost roughly.

Again there was a short silence in the still room.

Sudd