e little short of impertinent
familiarity from Nurse Rosemary Gray. So she followed meekly into the
pretty room prepared for her; admired the chintz; answered questions
about her night journey; admitted that she would be very glad of
breakfast, but still more of a bath if convenient.

And now bath and breakfast were both over, and Jane was standing beside
the window in her room, looking down at the wonderful view, and waiting
until the local doctor should arrive and summon her to Garth's room.

She had put on the freshest-looking and most business-like of her
uniforms, a blue print gown, linen collar and cuffs, and a white apron
with shoulder straps and large pockets. She also wore the becoming cap
belonging to one of the institutions to which she had once been for
training. She did not intend wearing this later on, but just this
morning she omitted no detail which could impress Dr. Mackenzie with
her extremely professional appearance. She was painfully conscious that
the severe simplicity of her dress tended rather to add to her height,
notwithstanding her low-heeled ward shoes with their noiseless rubber
soles. She could but hope Deryck would prove right as to the view Dr.
Mackenzie would take.

And then far away in the distance, along the white ribbon of road,
winding up from the valley, she saw a high gig, trotting swiftly; one
man in it, and a small groom seated behind. Her hour had come.

Jane fell upon her knees, at the window, and prayed for strength,
wisdom, and courage. She could realise absolutely nothing. She had
thought so much and so continuously, that all mental vision was out of
focus and had become a blur. Even his dear face had faded and was
hidden from her when she frantically strove to recall it to her mental
view. Only the actual fact remained clear, that in a few short minutes
she would be taken to the room where he lay. She would see the face she
had not seen since they stood together at the chancel step--the face
from which the glad confidence slowly faded, a horror of chill
disillusion taking its place.

"Anoint and cheer our soiled face
With the abundance of Thy grace."

She would see that dear face, and he, sightless, would not see hers,
but would be easily deluded into believing her to be some one else.

The gig had turned the last bend of the road, and passed out of sight
on its way to the front of the house.

Jane rose and stood waiting. Suddenly she remembered two sentences