"But you have not left your master alone?" said Agatha.
"He has two Sisters of Charity—heaven reward them! They watch with him night and day. He is very low, pauvre cher homme!" And the old man looked at his interlocutress with that clear, human, sympathetic glance with which Italians of all classes bridge over the social gulf. Agatha felt that he knew his master's secret, and that she might discuss it with him freely.
"Is he dying?" she asked.
"That's the question, dear lady! He is very low. The doctors have given him up; but the doctors don't know his malady. They have felt his dear body all over, they have sounded his lungs, and looked at his tongue and counted his pulse; they know what he eats and drinks—it's soon told! But they haven't seen his mind, dear lady. I have; and so far I'm a better doctor than they. I know his secret—I know that he loves the beautiful girl above!" and the old man pointed to the upper windows of the house.
"Has your master taken you into his confidence?" Agatha demanded.
He hesitated a moment; then shaking his head a little and laying his hand on his heart—
"Ah, dear lady," he said, "the point is whether I have taken him into mine. I have not, I confess; he is too far gone. But I have determined to
