Behind a Mask

Edward reluctantly obeyed, and his brother was left to himself. Little

rest did he find, however, for the pain of the wounded arm grew

unbearable, and, taking a sudden resolution, he rang for his servant.

"Neal, go to Miss Coventry's study, and if Miss Muir is there, ask her

to be kind enough to come to me. I'm in great pain, and she understand

wounds better than anyone else in the house."

With much surprise in his face, the man departed and a few moments after

the door noiselessly opened and Miss Muir came in. It had been a very

warm day, and for the first time she had left off her plain black dress.

All in white, with no ornament but her fair hair, and a fragrant posy of

violets in her belt, she looked a different woman from the meek, nunlike

creature one usually saw about the house. Her face was as altered as her

dress, for now a soft color glowed in her cheeks, her eyes smiled shyly,

and her lips no longer wore the firm look of one who forcibly repressed

every emotion. A fresh, gentle, and charming woman she seemed, and

Coventry found the dull room suddenly brightened by her presence. Going

straight to him, she said simply, and with a happy, helpful look very

comforting to see, "I'm glad you sent for me. What can I do for you?"

He told her, and before the complaint was ended, she began loosening the

bandages with the decision of one who understood what was to be done and

had faith in herself.

"Ah, that's relief, that's comfort!" ejaculated Coventry, as the last

tight fold fell away. "Ned was afraid I should bleed to death if he

touched me. What will the doctor say to us?"

"I neither know nor care. I shall say to him that he is a bad surgeon to

bind it so closely, and not leave orders to have it untied if necessary.

Now I shall make it easy and put you to sleep, for that is what you

need. Shall I? May I?"

"I wish you would, if you can."

And while she deftly rearranged the bandages, the young man watched her

curiously. Presently he asked, "How came you to know so much about

these things?"

"In the hospital where I was ill, I saw much that interested me, and

when I got better, I used to sing to the patients sometimes."

"Do you mean to sing to me?" he asked, in the submissive tone men

unconsciously adopt when ill and in a woman's care.

"If you like it better than reading aloud in a dreamy tone," she

answered, as she tied the last knot.

"I do, much better," he said decidedly.

"You are feverish. I shall wet your forehead, and then you will be quite

comfortable." She moved about the room in the quiet way which made it a

pleasure to watch her, and, having mingled a little cologne with water,

bathed his face as unconcernedly as if he had been a child. Her

proceedings not only comforted but amused Coventry, who mentally

contrasted her with the stout, beer-drinking matron who had ruled over

him in his last illness.