"I haven't told her yet."
"You're ashamed, you're ashamed!" Nick only looked out of the western window at this; he felt himself growing red. "Tell her it would have been sixty thousand; I had the money all ready."
"I sha'n't tell her that," said Nick, redder still.
"Poor woman—poor dear woman!" Mr. Carteret whimpered.
"Yes, indeed; she won't like it."
"Think it all over again; don't throw away a splendid future!" These words were uttered with a recovering flicker of passion. Nick Dormer had never heard such an accent on his old friend's lips. But the next instant Mr. Carteret began to murmur: "I'm tired—I'm very tired," and sank back with a groan and with closed lips.
Nick assured him tenderly that he had only too much cause to be exhausted, but that the worst was over now. He smoothed his pillows for him and said he must leave him, he would send in the nurse.
"Come back—come back," Mr. Carteret pleaded before he quitted him; "come back and tell me it's a horrible dream."
Nick did go back, very late that evening; Mr. Carteret had sent a message to his room. But one of the nurses was on the ground this time and she remained there with her watch in her hand. The invalid's chamber was shrouded and darkened; the shaded candle left the bed in gloom. Nick's interview with his venerable host was the affair of but a moment; the nurse interposed, impatient and not understanding. She heard Nick tell Mr. Carteret that he had posted his letter
