before.

Perhaps, again, the mention of them awoke echoes which had long been
silent, and dragged forgotten facts out of oblivion to the light of
day--just as one may enter a room which has been closely sealed for
years, and see objects once familiar but long since absolutely
forgotten, shrouded in dust and dim with disuse, but of which the sight
instantly recalls every trifling association.

Sometimes he would comment upon the situations or characters in a
story, frequently making fun of them and their peculiarities, and at
others he would bid her lay down the book and talk to him instead. He
found the greatest pleasure in the time they spent together, when
Philippa would take up her embroidery and sit beside him, and he would
lie on the sofa with his eyes on her, watching her every movement as
her dexterous needle slipped rapidly through the canvas.

He was thoughtful of her, never omitting to question her as to whether
she had been out, and constantly bidding her not to give up all her own
amusements for his sake. He did not speak a great deal of his love,
but his devotion showed itself plainly in a hundred different ways--in
his deep gratitude for any slight service rendered--in his look of
gladness when she came--in the inflexion of his voice, and so on. He
seemed determined not to peril his new-found joy, or weary her by any
protestations.

It was all quite easy, and Philippa was conscious of a great content,
which she attributed to the reaction from her anxiety lest she should
fail in the thing she had undertaken, and the natural pride which a
nurse may legitimately feel when she sees a patient making strides on
the road of convalescence.

She had received a letter from Marion, who wrote from a heart evidently
torn with misgivings as to the wisdom of the course Philippa was
pursuing. Her words were affectionate and guarded, but doubt and even
disapproval could easily be read between the lines. She wrote of the
grave dangers which must presently confront her friend, of the moment
which must surely come when it would be impossible to go on without
acknowledging the truth, and the word which might have been said at
once would have to be spoken. She earnestly begged her to withdraw
herself altogether, to leave the nursing of Francis Heathcote to
others. The pain she would now cause would be nothing to the pain
which would be his later when her daily presence had become a
delightful habit with him--and so