“I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. While the girl kept the patient from dwelling upon his misfortunes, whatever these were, he himself would have to keep the girl from brooding over hers. I have sinned deeply; but I have been sorely tried. You do not make me afraid like this. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. “I’ve broken off my engagement,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, and found her heart thumping in her neck. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. So she married him. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own.
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