e gave us some trouble, as you
foresaw, and the whole plan hung in the balance during a few awful
moments; for, though he easily accepted the explanation we had planned,
he sent me out, and told Dr. Mackenzie my voice in his room would
madden him. Dr. Rob was equal to the occasion, and won the day; and
Garth, having once given in, never mentioned the matter again. Only,
sometimes I see him listening and remembering.

But Nurse Rosemary Gray has beautiful hours when poor anxious, yearning
Jane is shut out. For her patient turns to her, and depends on her, and
talks to her, and tries to reach her mind, and shows her his, and is a
wonderful person to live with and know. Jane, marching about in the
cold, outside, and hearing them talk, realises how little she
understood the beautiful gift which was laid at her feet; how little
she had grasped the nature and mind of the man whom she dismissed as "a
mere boy." Nurse Rosemary, sitting beside him during long sweet hours
of companionship, is learning it; and Jane, ramping up and down her
narrowing strip of desert, tastes the sirocco of despair.

And now I come to the point of my letter, and, though I am a woman, I
will not put it in a postscript.

Deryck, can you come up soon, to pay him a visit, and to talk to me? I
don't think I can bear it, unaided, much longer; and he would so enjoy
having you, and showing you how he had got on, and all the things he
had already learned to do. Also you might put in a word for Jane; or at
all events, get at his mind on the subject. Oh, Boy, if you COULD spare
forty-eight hours! And a breath of the moors would be good for you.
Also I have a little private plan, which depends largely for its
fulfilment on your coming. Oh, Boy--come!

Yours, needing you,

Jeanette.

From Sir Deryck Brand to Nurse Rosemary Gray, Castle Gleneesh, N. B.

Wimpole Street.

My dear Jeanette: Certainly I will come. I will leave Euston on Friday
evening. I can spend the whole of Saturday and most of Sunday at
Gleneesh, but must be home in time for Monday's work.

I will do my best, only, alas! I am not Moses, and do not possess his
wonder-working rod. Moreover, latest investigations have proved that
the Israelites could not have crossed at the place you mention, but
further north at the Bitter Lakes; a mere matter of detail, in no way
affecting the extreme appositeness of your illustration, rather, adding
to it; for I fear there are bitter waters ahead of y