ied Heathcote, but reaching out as he spoke, and taking
hold of the edge of her sleeve, which was near him.

"Why do you do that?" said his nurse, smiling, like one who humors the
fancies of a child.

"To keep you from going away. You said you would be here at dinner, and
you were not."

"I was detained. I intended to be here, but--"

She stopped, for Heathcote had closed his eyes, and she thought he was
falling asleep. But no.

"It is raining," he said presently, still with closed eyes.

"Yes; a summer shower."

"Do you remember that thunder-storm when we were in the little cave? You
are changed since then."

She made no answer.

"Your face has grown grave. No one would take you for a child now, but
that day in the cave you were hardly more than one."

"You too are changed," she answered, turning the conversation from
herself; "you are thin and pale. You must sleep and eat. Surrender
yourself to that duty for the time being." She spoke with matter-of-fact
cheerfulness, but her ears were strained to catch the sound of
footsteps. None came, and the rain fell steadily. She began to dread
rain.

Heathcote in his turn did not reply, but she was conscious that his eyes
were open, and that he was looking at her. At last he said, gently,

"_I_ should have placed it there, Anne."

She turned; his gaze was fixed upon her left hand, and the gold ring
given by the school-girls.

"He is kind to you? And you--are happy?" he continued, still gazing at
the circlet.

She did not speak; she was startled and confused. He supposed, then,
that she was married. Would it not be best to leave the error
uncorrected? But--could she succeed in this?

"You do not answer," said Heathcote, lifting his eyes to her face. "Are
you not happy, then?"

"Yes, I am happy," she answered, trying to smile. "But please do not
talk; you are not strong enough for talking."

"I hope he is not here, or expected. Do not let him come in _here_,
Anne: promise me."

"He is not coming."

"He is in the army, I suppose, somewhere in the neighborhood; and you
are here to be near him?"

"No."

"Then how is it that you are here?"

"I have been in the hospitals for a short time as nurse. But if you
persist in talking, I shall certainly leave you. Why not try to sleep?"

"He must be a pretty sort of fellow to let you go into the hospitals,"
said Heathcote, paying no heed to her threat. "I have your fatal
marriage notice, Anne; I have always k