At Love's Cost

After a pause she went on: "Of course you will go away as soon as you can; but it's a pity, it

really is; you're ever so much better off here, and you'd soon get used

to the other people in the ward, though they are of a different class

to yourself. But though most of them are very poor and some of them are

usually rough when they are at home, it is wonderfully how patient they

are--you will scarcely ever hear a murmur; only a sigh now and

again--and they are so grateful that sometimes they bring the tears to

your eyes, and it's quite hard to part from them when they get well and

are discharged. But I really mustn't talk to you any more," she

murmured, penitently, and the soft, placid voice ceased.

Ida looked round the ward, her heart beating as fast as her condition

would allow. As Nurse Brown had said, she felt terribly strange and

nervous in the long, whitewashed ward which, however, was rendered

cheerful enough by the dozens of pictures from illustrated papers,

which had been fastened to the walls, and by the vases and great bowls

of flowers which seemed to occupy every suitable spot.

She closed her eyes and tried to think; but she fell asleep instead and

dreamt that she had fallen off Rupert and was lying on the moss beside

the river, quite comfortable and most absurdly content. When she woke

the sister was standing beside her, and nodded with cheerful approval.

"That's better, Miss Heron," she said. "It is quite pleasant to watch

you asleep and not to hear you rambling."

Ida's face flushed.

"Have I been rambling?" she asked. "What have I said? You know my

name!"

The nurse smiled.

"Your things are marked," she explained. "But there was no address,

nothing which could help us to communicate with your friends, or we

would have done so. You will tell us where to send now, will you not?"

Ida blushed again and felt troubled. Why should she annoy and worry the

Herons? She shuddered slightly as she pictured her cousin John standing

beside the bed where the sweet and pleasant-faced sister now stood, and

preaching at her. They would want to take her back to Loburnum Villa;

and Ida regarded the prospect of return to that cheerful abode of the

Christian virtues as a prisoner might regard the prospect of returning

to his gaol. The sister regarded her keenly without appearing to do so.

"Perhaps you would rather remain quietly for a few days, Miss Heron?"

she suggested, sweetly.