hree minutes and a half. I always stand to
speak myself, and I prefer folk should stand to listen. I can never
talk to people while they loll around. But you will walk upstairs all
the more steadily, Nurse Rosemary Gray, if you sit down now for five
minutes at this table."

Jane obeyed, touched and humbled. So, after all, it was a kind,
comprehending heart under that old sealskin waistcoat; and a shrewd
understanding of men and matters, in spite of the erratic, somewhat
objectionable exterior. While she drank the wine and finished the
biscuits, he found busy occupation on the other side of the room,
polishing the window with his silk pocket-handkerchief; making a queer
humming noise all the time, like a bee buzzing up the pane. He seemed
to have forgotten her presence; but, just as she put down the empty
glass, he turned and, walking straight across the room, laid his hand
upon her shoulder.

"Now, Nurse," he said, "follow me upstairs, and, just at first, speak
as little as possible. Remember, every fresh voice intruding into the
still depths of that utter blackness, causes an agony of bewilderment
and disquietude to the patient. Speak little and speak low, and may God
Almighty give you tact and wisdom."

There was a dignity of conscious knowledge and power in the small
quaint figure which preceded Jane up the staircase. As she followed,
she became aware that her spirit leaned on his and felt sustained and
strengthened. The unexpected conclusion of his sentence, old-fashioned
in its wording, yet almost a prayer, gave her fresh courage. "May God
Almighty give you tact and wisdom," he had said, little guessing how
greatly she needed them. And now another voice, echoing through
memory's arches to organ-music, took up the strain: "Where Thou art
Guide, no ill can come." And with firm though noiseless step, Jane
followed Dr. Mackenzie into the roam where Garth was lying, helpless,
sightless, and disfigured.

CHAPTER XIX

THE VOICE IN THE DARKNESS

Just the dark head upon the pillow. That was all Jane saw at first, and
she saw it in sunshine. Somehow she had always pictured a darkened
room, forgetting that to him darkness and light were both alike, and
that there was no need to keep out the sunlight, with its healing,
purifying, invigorating powers.

He had requested to have his bed moved into a corner--the corner
farthest from door, fireplace, and windows--with its left side against
the wall, so that he cou