“Tell me what I am to do.”

But that was precisely what he did not know himself—­for a moment.  He considered.

“Come up-stairs,” he said.  “His family are there.  I will tell him a visitor has called to see him.  He often thinks you are there, but that you won’t speak to him.  Well, you will just say a few words, to convince him, and as quietly as you can, and come out again.  Perhaps he will take it all as a matter of course; and that will be well; and I will tell him you will come again, after he has had some sleep.  Of course you must be very calm too; there must be no excitement.”

“No, no,” Nina murmured, in the same low voice, and she followed him up-stairs.

On entering the sitting-room she glanced apprehensively at those strangers; but Francie, divining in an instant who she was and why Maurice had brought her hither, immediately came to her and pressed her hand, in silence.

Maurice went into the sick-room.

“Linn,” said he, cheerfully, “I’ve brought you a visitor; but she can’t stay very long; she will come again some other time.  You’ve always been asking about Miss Ross, and why she didn’t come to see you; well, here she is!”

Lionel slowly opened his tired eyes and looked towards the door; but he seemed to take no interest in the girl who was standing there, pale, trembling, and quite forgetting all she had been enjoined to do.  Lionel, with those restless, fatigued eyes, regarded her for but a second—­then he turned away, shaking his head.  He had seen that illusory phantom so often!

“Linn,” said his friend, reproachfully, “when Miss Ross comes to see you, are you not going to say a word to her?”

It was Nina herself who interrupted him.  She uttered a little cry of appeal and pity—­“Leo!” She went quickly forward, and threw herself on her knees by the bedside, and seized his hand, and bathed it with her hot tears.  “Leo, do you not know me!  I am Nina!  If you wish me to come back—­see! see!—­I am here!  I kiss your hand—­it is Nina!”

He looked at her strangely, and turned with bewildered eyes to Maurice.

“Maurice, is it twelve o’clock?  Has she really come this time?  Did you hear her speak just now?  Is it Nina—­at last! at last!”

With her head still bowed down, and her whole frame shaken with her sobbing, but still clasping his hand, she murmured to him some phrase—­Maurice guessed it was in the familiar Neapolitan dialect; for Lionel presently said to her—­slowly, because of his heavy breathing: 

“Ah, you are still la cianciosella!—­but you have come back—­and not to go away.  I have forgotten so many things.  My head is not well.  But wait a little while, Nina—­wait a little while—­”

“Oh, yes, Leo,” she said, and she rose and dried her eyes, with her head turned aside somewhat.  “I will wait until you have plenty of time to tell me.  I shall come and see you whenever you want me.”