"Yes, he is very ill--and distressed--his brain is
excited--and we want to calm him. Surely you will come and speak to
him--"
She shrank back involuntarily, and there was a pathetic fear in the
large, timid eyes.
"Me? No--no!" she said. "Ah, no, I could not do that! Is he so very
ill?"
Tears stood in the long, black lashes, and she turned her head away.
"But you don't understand," Maurice said, eagerly. "All the way through
this illness, it is about you he has been grieving; you have never been
out of his thoughts; and if you saw his distress, I know you would do
anything in your power to quiet him a little. It is what his cousin said
yesterday. 'If we could only find Miss Ross,' she said, 'that would be
everything; that would bring him rest; he would be satisfied that she
was well, and remembering him, and not gone away forever.' I never
expected to see you; I thought it was useless trying to find you; but
now--now--you cannot be so cruel as to refuse him this comfort! You
would be sorry if you saw him. Perhaps he might not recognize
you--probably not. But if you could persuade him that you really were in
London--that you would come some other day soon to see him again--I know
that would pacify him, just when peace of mind is all-important.
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