ing on one side of the brain, with a dull feeling at the back, as if
there were a quantity of warm lead there that kept his skull on the
pillow. It was the beginning of fever, but he did not know it; it was
the forewarner of the death he was choosing. The experienced nurse saw
it in his face.

'Giovanni, do you know me?' she asked softly, coming a step nearer.
Instantly, he had all his faculties again.

'Yes; come to me,' he answered.

She came nearer and stood beside him.

'Sit down,' he said. 'This is the side--the side of my good arm. Sit
down and let me take your hand, dear.'

She wondered at his quiet tone and gentle manner. They almost frightened
her, for she remembered taking care of impatient, short-tempered people
who had suddenly softened like this just at the end. But there was no
reason in the world why he should die now, and she dismissed the thought
as she took the hand he put out and held it. It was icy cold, as strong
men's hands generally are when a fever is just beginning. She tried to
warm it between hers, covering it up between her palms as much as she
could; but she herself was not warm either, for she had been in her
cell, where there was no sun in the morning, and the air was chilly and
damp, because it had rained in all night.

Giovanni spoke again before she could find words.

'My life is in your hands, with my hand, Angela,' he said. 'Do what
you will with it.'

He felt that she shook from head to foot, like a young tree that is
rudely struck. He went on, as if he had prepared his words, though he
had not even thought of them.

'With your love and your companionship, I shall not miss a limb, I
shall not regret my profession, I shall be perfectly happy. Alone, I
will not be forced artificially to live out my life a wretched
cripple.'

It was brutal, and perhaps he knew it; but he was desperate and fate
had given him a weapon to move any woman. In plain truth, it was as
cruel as if he had put a pistol to his head and threatened to pull the
trigger if she would not marry him. He had not done that yet, even
when she had been in his room at Monteverde and the loaded revolver
had been between them.

Sister Giovanna kept his hand bravely in hers and sat still, though it
was hard. The question which must be answered, and which she alone
could answer, had been asked with frightful directness, and though she
had known only too well that it was coming, its tremendous import
paralysed her an