I could not stay in the house." She spoke timidly, in a voice that should have been new to him, but that it was, above all, her voice.
"I was on my way to you." "I know.

I thought you might perhaps come.

If you had not--I think I was on my way to you." It seemed not unnatural.
"Did you find--any message from me when you came ?" she asked presently, in a quieted, almost a contented tone.
It shot--the message--before his eyes, though he had seen it no message, in the preoccupation of his arrival.
"I found a rose on my dressing-table," he told her; and the rose stood for him in a wonder of tenderness, looking back.
"I smuggled it in," she confessed, "I knew your old servant--she used to be with us.

The others--from Dr Drummond's--have been there all day making it warm and comfortable for you.

I had no right to do anything like that, but I had the right, hadn't I, to bring the rose ?" "I don't know," he answered her, hard-pressed, "how we are to bear this." She shrank away from him a little, as if at a glimpse of a surgeon's knife.
"We are not to bear it," she said eagerly.