not so easy to follow up cases two hundred and fifty years old,” he suggested.
Nancy laughed.
“No; I’ll content myself with the modern ones.”
“Do you suppose there are any modern ones?”
“Oh, yes. The priests claim that there are several new cases, every year.”
“And you can get on the track of them?” he asked, with a sudden show of interest.
“Surely. I have my eye on one of them now,” Nancy responded gravely.
“A Sainte Anne miracle?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me where it is?” he urged.
She shook her head.
“I can’t. It concerns somebody besides myself,” she replied, with a decision which he felt it would be useless to question.
There was a prolonged pause. It was Barth who broke it.
“Strange we never heard of the place at home!” he said reflectively.
“How long since you came here?” Nancy asked, rather indifferently.
“Two weeks.”
“And you like it?”
“For a change. It is a change from the ’Varsity, though.”
“Which was your university?” she inquired, less from any interest in the answer than because she could see that her patient was in an autobiographical frame of mind, and even her brief experience of mankind had taught her to let such moods have their way.
“Kings, at Cambridge. I was at Eton before that.”
“What sent you out here?”
“Ranching. My brother went in for the army, and we didn’t care to have two of a kind in the same family.”
“It might be a little monotonous,” she assented gravely. “But where is your ranch?”
“I haven’t any yet. I am stopping in Quebec for the winter, and I shall go out, early in the spring.”
“Is Quebec a pleasant place?” she asked, as she crossed the room to the window and stood looking out at the river beneath.
“It’s rather charming, only I don’t know anybody there.”
“Why don’t you get acquainted, then?”
“How can I? I brought some letters; but the people have moved to Vancouver.”
“Yes; but they aren’t the only people in Quebec.”
“Of course not; but I don’t know any of the others.”
“But you can?”
“How?” Barth queried blankly.
“Why, talk to them, do the things they do—oh, just get acquainted; that’s all,” the girl answered, with some impatience.
He raised his brows inquiringly. It was not the first time that Nancy had been annoyed by the expression.
“Talk to people, before you have been introduced to them?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“No reason; only it’s not our way.”
“Whose way?”
“The way we English people do.”
“Oh, what a Britisher you are!” she said, with a momentary impatience that led her to forget her self-imposed rôle as hireling.
His lips straightened.
“Certainly. Why not?” he asked quietly.
Baffled, she attempted another line of attack.
“But you were never introduced to me,” she told him.
“Oh, no.”
“And you talk to me.”
“Yes. But that is different.”
“How different?” she demanded.
“You are my nurse.”
Her color came hotly.
“I wasn’t at first.”
Too late she repented her rashness, as Mr. Cecil Barth made languid answer—
“No. Still, if I remember clearly, it was you who first spoke to me. Oh—nurse!”
But the door banged sharply, and Barth found himself alone with his ankle and with his thoughts.
“Where is the nurse?” he asked Dr. Howard, a long hour later.
“She went out for a walk.”
“Again?”
“Yes. Have you needed her?”
“Not exactly; but—” Barth hesitated. Then, like the honest Englishman he was, he went straight to the point. “The fact is, doctor, I am afraid I said something that vexed her. I didn’t mean to; I really had no idea of annoying her. I should dislike to hurt her feelings, for she has been very good to me.”
For the first time in their acquaintance, Dr. Howard could confess to a liking for his patient. Nevertheless, he only nodded curtly, as he said—
“You couldn’t have had a better or more loyal nurse.”
According to her custom, Nancy remained on duty, that evening, until nine o’clock. Then she moved softly up and down, setting the room in order for the night. Barth had been lying quiet, staring idly up at the mammoth shadow of Madame Gagnier, rocking to and fro just outside the door. Then, as Nancy paused beside him, he turned to face her.
“Can I do anything more, sir?” she asked, with the gentle seriousness which marked her moods now and then.
“Nothing, thank you. I am quite comfortable.”
“I am glad. I hope you may have a quiet night.”
“Thank you. I hope I may. You have been very good to me, nurse, and—” his speech hurried itself a little; “I appreciate it. As I understand, your wa—salary is paid through the doctor; but perhaps some little thing that—”
His gesture was too swift and sure to be avoided. The next instant, Nancy Howard found herself stalking out of the room with blazing cheeks and with a shining golden guinea clasped in the hot palm of her left hand.
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