Paddington in the middle of the night. Many serious conferences did he
have with his chief, secret consultations at which Jean, filled with
curiosity, of course was not present, though she did not fail to note
that Darnborough usually regarded her with some suspicion,
notwithstanding his exquisite politeness.

More than once in those last days of the year Jean suggested that her
presence at Bracondale was no longer required. But her patient seemed
very loath to part with her.

"Another week, nurse," he would say. "Perhaps I will be able to do
without you then. We shall see."

And so indispensable did his lordship find her that not until the last
day of January did she pack her small belongings ready to be carried
back to the convent.

It was a warm, bright evening, one of those soft, sunny winter days
which one so often experiences in sheltered Torquay, when Jean, having
sent her things down by Davis, the under chauffeur, put on her neat
little velvet hat and her black, tailor-made coat, and carrying her
business-like nursing-bag, went into the huge drawing-room, where she
had learnt from Jenner the Earl was reading.

The big, luxurious, heavily-gilded apartment was empty, but the long,
French windows were open upon the stone terrace, and upon one of the
white iron garden chairs the Earl, a smart, neatly-dressed figure in
black morning coat, widely braided in the French manner--a fashion he
usually affected--sat reading.

Jean walked to the window, bag in hand, and paused for a few seconds,
looking at him in silence.

Then, as their eyes met and he rose quickly to his feet, she advanced
with outstretched hand to wish him farewell.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LORD BRACONDALE'S CONFESSION.

"What!" he cried, with a look of dismay upon his pale face. "Are you
really leaving, nurse?"

"Yes, Lord Bracondale. I have already sent my things back to the
convent. I have come to wish you good-bye."

"To wish me good-bye!" he echoed blankly, looking her straight in the
face. "How can I ever thank you--how can I ever repay you for all your
kindness, care, and patience with me? Sir Evered says that I owe my life
to your good nursing."

She smiled.

"I think Sir Evered is merely paying me an undeserved compliment," was
her modest reply.

He had taken her small, white hand in his, and for a moment he stood
mute before her, overcome with gratitude.

"Sir Evered has spoken the truth, Nurse Jean," he said. "I know it,