Now look at me--and then don't talk any more twaddle about care and good nursing!" She had drawn him towards the window, till they were standing together in the full blaze of the setting sun.

Then she turned and faced him--a gaunt wreck of splendid womanhood, her fingers working nervously, whilst her too brilliant eyes, burning in their grey, sunken, sockets, searched his face curiously.
"You've worn better than I have," she observed at last, breaking the silence with a short laugh, "you must be--let me see--fifty.

While I'm barely thirty-one--and I look forty--and the rest." Suddenly he reached out and gathered her thin, restless hands into his, holding them in a kind, firm clasp.
"Oh, my dear!" he said sadly.

"Is there nothing I can do ?" "Yes," she answered steadily.

"There is.