After a moment he opened them, and said,
looking at Justine: "You have helped to nurse me, have you not?" His
wasted fingers moved over the counterpane towards her.
"I could do so little," she murmured.
"You have more than paid your debt to me," he gently replied. "For I
live, you see, and poor Hector died."
She shook her head gravely, and rejoined: "Ah no, I can never pay the
debt I owe to you and to God--now." He did not understand this, I know.
But I did. "You must not talk any more," I said to him.
But Justine interposed. "He must be told that the nurse who has done most
for him is Mrs. Falchion." His brows contracted as if he were trying to
remember something. He moved his head wearily.
"Yes, I think I remember," he said, "about her being with me, but nothing
clearly--nothing clearly. She is very kind."
Justine here murmured: "Shall I tell her?"
I was about to say no; but Roscoe nodded, and said quietly, "Yes, yes."
Then I made no objection, but urged that the meeting should only be for a
moment. I determined not to leave them alone even for that moment. I did
not know what things connected with their past--whatever it was--might be
brought up, and I knew that entire freedom from excitement was necessary.
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