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"You painted her soul," said Nurse Rosemary, "and it illuminated her plain face." "I SAW her soul," said Garth, almost in a whisper; "and that vision was so radiant that it illumined my dark life. The remembrance lightens my darkness, even now." A very tender silence fell in the library. The twilight deepened. Then Nurse Rosemary spoke, very low. "Mr. Dalmain, I have a request to make of you.
"Because my aunt never allows her telegrams to be opened. She loves shocks; and there is always the possibility of a telegram containing startling news. She says it completely spoils it if some one else knows it first, and breaks it to her gently." "Here comes the duchess," said Garth Dalmain, who was sitting where he could see the little gate into the rose-garden.
It is your own fault for making yourself so indispensable." Nurse Rosemary smiled. "I daresay I shall not be away for long," she said. "That is, if you want me, I can return. But, Mr. Dalmain, I intend to-night to write that letter of which I told you. I shall post it to-morrow. I must follow it up almost immediately. I must be with him when he receives it, or soon afterwards.
The doctor rose and sauntered round the bend of the path. Jane sat on in darkness. "Hullo, Dalmain," she heard Deryck say. "Found your way up here? An ideal spot. Shall we dispense with Simpson? Take my arm." "Yes," replied Garth. "I was told you were up here, Brand, and followed you." They came round the bend together, and out into the clearing. "Are you alone?" asked Garth standing still.
Dalmain, it seems to me I learned to understand how that which is loneliness unspeakable to ONE might be Paradise of a very perfect kind for TWO. I realised that there might be circumstances in which the dark would become a very wonderful meeting-place for souls.
I absolutely can't remember seeing anything, until I found myself watching the sparkle of the ripples on the sea. But I vaguely remember hearing things. There was always a kind voice. Of course that was yours, Helen. Also there was a kind hand. I used to try not to do anything which could hurt the kind hand. Then, there were several strange voices; they came and went. Then there was Mrs. Dalmain.
His eyebrows are like black horseshoes, and they mount higher and higher up his forehead as one's sentence proceeds. But he is very faithful, and knows his work, and Michael approves him. Do you like this portrait of Michael? Garth Dalmain stayed here a few months before he lost his sight, poor boy, and painted us both. I believe mine was practically his last portrait.
Her right hand held the pen poised over the paper. Her left was pressed against her breast. Her eyes rested on that dark bowed head, with a look of unutterable yearning and of passionate tenderness. At last Garth lifted his face. "Yours very sincerely, Garth Dalmain;" he said. And, silently, Nurse Rosemary wrote it.
Dalmain, "When but one right course lies before you, there can be no possible need for hesitation or consideration. You are merely nervously postponing the inevitable. You remind me of scenes we used to have in the out-patient department of a hospital in the East End of London, to which I once went for training.
Mackenzie advanced to the side of the bed and laid his hand upon Garth's shoulder. Then, with an incredible softening of his rather strident voice, he spoke so slowly and quietly, that Jane could hardly believe this to be the man who had jerked out questions, comments, and orders to her, during the last half-hour. "Good morning, Mr. Dalmain.
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