personating for a time a girl whom we had never seen.

"My little girl," he added, with a low laugh, and drew out another
hairpin.

In a few moments all her hair was about her shoulders. I had never
thought that she might be carrying such glory quietly hidden beneath
the simple nurse's cap.

"That is better," he said--"that is better." And he let all the
hairpins fall on the coverlet. "Now you are my own Marny," he
murmured. "Are you not?"

She hesitated one moment. "Yes, dear," she said softly. "I am your
own Marny."

With her disengaged hand she stroked his blanching cheek. There was
a certain science about her touch, as if she had once known
something of these matters.

Lovingly and slowly the smoke-grimed fingers passed over the
wonderful hair, smoothing it.

Then he grew more daring. He touched her eyes, her gentle cheeks,
the quiet, strong lips. He slipped to her shoulder, and over the
soft folds of her black dress.

"Been gardening?" he asked, coming to the bib of her nursing apron.

It was marvellous how the brain, which was laid open to the day,