“The doctor tells me,” he said, “that it would not be safe for you to travel at present, so I cannot of course, think of allowing you to do so.”

Nan’s eyes opened very wide at this.  It was an entirely novel idea that this man should take upon himself to direct her movements.  She drew a deep breath, and found her voice.

“I should certainly not dream of attempting such a thing without the doctor’s permission.”

His grave face did not alter.  His eyes looked directly into hers and it seemed to Nan for the first time that they held something of a domineering expression.

She turned her head away with a quick frown.  She also made a slight, ineffectual effort to free her hand.  But he did not appear to notice either gesture.

“Yes,” he said, in his slow way, “it is out of the question, and so I have asked your father to take care of you for me until my return—­for, unfortunately, I cannot postpone my own departure.”

Nan’s lips quivered.  She was beginning to feel hysterical.  With an effort she controlled herself.

“How long shall you be away?” she asked.

“It is impossible for me to say.  Everything depends upon the state of affairs at the mines.  But you may be quite sure, Anne”—­a deeper note crept into his voice—­“that my absence will be as short as I can possibly make it.”

She turned her head towards him again.

“You needn’t hurry for my sake,” she said abruptly.  “I shall be perfectly happy here.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he answered gravely.  “I have made full provision for you.  The interest upon the settlement I have made upon you will be paid to you monthly.  Should you find it insufficient, you will, of course, let me know.  I could cable you some more if necessary.”

A great blush rose in Nan’s face at his words, spreading upwards to her hair.

“Oh,” she stammered, “I—­I—­indeed, I shan’t want any money!  Please don’t—­”

“It is your own,” he interposed quietly, “and as such I beg that you will regard it, and spend it exactly as you like.  Should you require more, as I have said, I shall be pleased to send it to you.”

He uttered the last sentence as if it ended the matter, and Nan found herself unable to say more.  To have expressed any gratitude would have been an absolute impossibility at that moment.

She lay, therefore, in quivering silence until he spoke again.

“It is time for me to be going.  I hope the injury to your arm will progress quite satisfactorily.  You will not be able to write to me yourself at present, but your sister Mona has promised to let me hear of you by every mail.  Dr. Barnard will also write.”

He paused.  But Nan said nothing whatever.  She was wondering, with a fiery embarrassment, what form his farewell would take.

After a brief silence he rose.

“Good-bye, then!” he said.

He bent low over her, looking closely into her unwilling face.  And then—­it was the merest touch—­for the fraction of a second his lips were on her forehead.