“Maurice!” said Lionel, with staring eyes.  “What is that?  Who is there?”

“Don’t you know, Linn?” his friend said, tranquilly.  “She has been here all through your illness—­she has played those airs for you—­”

“Nina?  Nina herself?” Lionel exclaimed, but in a low voice.

“Yes.  If you like I will bring her in to see you.  She has been awfully good.  I thought it would please you to know she was here.  Now be quite quiet, and she will come in and speak to you for a minute—­for just a minute, you know.”

He went and asked Nina to go into the room, but he did not accompany her; he remained without.  Nina went gently forward to the bedside.

“Leo, I—­I am glad you are getting on so well,” she said, with admirable self-possession; it was only her lips that were tremulous.

As for him, he looked at her in silence, and tears rolled down his cheek—­he was so nerveless.  Then he said, in his weak voice,

“Nina, have you forgiven me?”

“What have I to forgive, Leo?” she made answer; and she took his hand for a moment.  “Get well—­it is the prayer of many friends.  And if you wish to see me again before I go, then I will come—­”

“Before you go?” he managed to say.  “You are going away again, Nina?”

His eyes were more piteous than his speech; she met that look—­and her resolution faltered.

“At least,” she said, “I will not go until you are well—­no.  When you wish for me, I will come to see you.  We are still friends as of old, Leo, are we not?  Now I must not remain.  I will say good-bye for the present.”

“When are you coming back, Nina?” he said, still with those pleading eyes.

“When you wish, Leo.”

“This afternoon?”

“This afternoon, if you wish.”

She pressed his hand and left.  Her determined self-possession had carried her bravely so far; there had hardly been a trace of emotion.  But when she went outside—­when the strain was taken off—­it may have been otherwise; at all events, when, with bowed and averted head, she crossed the sitting-room and betook herself to the empty chamber above, no one dreamed of following her—­until Francie, some little time thereafter, went quietly up-stairs and tapped at the door and entered.  She found Nina stretched at full length on the sofa, her head buried in the cushion, sobbing as if her heart would break.  Perhaps she was thinking of the approaching farewell.

CHAPTER XXVI.

TOWARDS THE DAWN.

On the Tuesday about midday, according to her promise, Miss Burgoyne called and again preferred her request.  And, short of a downright lie, Mangan saw no way of refusing her.

“At the same time,” he said, in the cold manner which he unconsciously adopted towards this young lady, “you must remember he is far from strong yet; and I hope you have nothing to say to him that would cause agitation, or even involve his speaking much.  His voice has to be taken care of, as well as his general condition.”