love you,' because I knew that you did not love me."

He was beginning to speak but she lifted her hand to his lips. Then she put
it back in his and pushed her fingers up his coat-sleeve until they were
hidden, resting upon his bare arm.

"No, you did not." Her voice was low and the words came slowly. "But since
we came here, you have loved me. If I were to get well, were to go back,
you would not. Ah, if you knew, if you only knew how I have wanted your
love, how I have lain awake night after night, hour after hour, whispering
under my breath 'I love you. I love you. Why do you not love me?'"

Howard put his head down so that his face was hid from her in her lap.

"After the doctor had talked to me a few minutes, had asked me a few
questions," she went on, "I knew. And I was not sorry. It was nearly over,
anyhow, dear. Did you know it? I often wondered if you did. Yes, I saw many
little signs. I wouldn't admit it to myself until this illness came. Then I
confessed it to myself. And I was not sorry we were to part this way. But I
did not expect"--and she drew a long breath--"happiness!"

"No, no," he protested, lifting his face and looking at her. She drank in
the expression of his eyes--the love, the longing, the misery--as if it had
been a draught of life.

"Ah, you make me so happy, so happy. How much I owe to you. Four long,
long, beautiful years. How much! How much! And at last--love!"

There was silence for several minutes. Then he spoke: "I loved you from the
first, I believe. Only I never appreciated you. I was so self-absorbed. And