else, so long as it were made
impossible for her to bruise and exhaust her young bloom amid such
scenes--such gross physical abominations. Amazing!--how meanly,
passionately timorous the man of Raeburn's type can be for the woman! He
himself may be morally "ever a fighter," and feel the glow, the stern
joy of the fight. But she!--let her leave the human brute and his
unsavoury struggle alone! It cannot be borne--it was never meant--that
she should dip her delicate wings, of her own free will at least, in
such a mire of blood and tears. It was the feeling that had possessed
him when Mrs. Boyce told him of the visit to the prison, the night in
the cottage.

In her whirl of feverish thought, she divined him very closely.
Presently, as he watched her--hating the man for driving and the cab for
shaking--he saw her white lips suddenly smile.

"I know," she said, rousing herself to look at him; "you think nursing
is all like that!"

"I hope not!" he said, with effort, trying to smile too.

"I never saw a fight before," she said, shutting her eyes again.
"Nobody is ever rude to us--I often pine for experiences!"

How like her old, wild tone! His rigid look softened involuntarily.

"Well, you have got one now," he said, bending over to her. "Does your
arm hurt you much?"

"Yes,--but I can bear it. What vexes me is that I shall have to give up
work for a bit.--Mr. Raeburn!"

"Yes." His heart beat.

"We may meet often--mayn't we?--at Lady Winterbourne's--or in the
country? Couldn't we be friends? You don't know how often--" She turned
away her weary head a moment--gathered strength to begin again--"--how
often I have regretted--last year. I see now--that I behaved--more
unkindly"--her voice was almost a whisper--"than I thought then. But it
is all done with--couldn't we just be good friends--understand each
other, perhaps, better than we ever did?"

She kept her eyes closed, shaken with alternate shame and daring.

As for him, he was seized with overpowering dumbness and chill. What was
really in his mind was the Terrace--was Wharton's advancing figure. But
her state--the moment--coerced him.

"We could not be anything but friends," he said gently, but with
astonishing difficulty; and then could find nothing more to say. She
knew his reserve, however, and would not this time be repelled.

She put out her hand.

"No!" she said, looking at it and withdrawing it with a shudder; "oh
no!"

Then suddenly a passion of