She had felt that there was a depth, a
richness, a genuineness to him, and it was this feeling, this certainty
of him, that had led her to such openness. Yes--she was sure there were
treasures there--deep within, for those whom he chose to admit. She
wished--(why should she not confess it after all)--she wished that she
might be admitted.
Hope Farwell was alone in the world with no near living relatives. She
had only her friends; and friends to her meant more than to those who
have others dearer to them by ties of blood.
That evening when Dr. Harry was leaving the house after his visit to his
patient, the nurse went with him to the door, as usual, for any word of
instruction he might wish to give her privately.
"Well, Miss Hope," he said, "you've done it."
"What have I done?" she asked, startled.
"Saved my patient in there. She would have gone without a doubt, if you
had not come when you did. It's your case all right."
"Then I'm glad I came," she said quietly. "And I may go back soon now,
may I not, Doctor?"
He hesitated, slowly drawing on his gloves.
"Must you go back Miss Farwell? I--we need you so much here in Corinth.
There are so many cases you know where all depends upon the nurse. There
is not a trained nurse this side of St. Louis. I am sure I could keep you
busy." There was something more than professional interest in the keen
eyes that looked so intently into her own.
"Thank you Doctor, you are very kind, but you know Dr.
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