"Would you like me to sleep on the sofa in your room, madam?"
"I will bring a shawl, and wrap it round me and lie down."
"No, don't, nurse, don't. I must not yield to this nameless thing. I must--I will be brave. And the child, my own little child, will comfort me."
"What is the nameless thing, dear madam?"
"I cannot--I won't speak of it. Esther, are you--are you _going_?"
"Certainly not, Mrs. Wyndham. I mean, not yet."
"That is right. Take this chair; warm yourself. Esther. I don't look on you as an ordinary nurse. Long ago I used to be so much interested in you."
"It was very kind of you, madam; young ladies, as a rule, have no time to interest themselves in poor girls."
"But I had plenty of time, and did interest myself. My father was always so much attached to yours. I was an only child and you were an only child. I used to wonder if you and your father cared for each other as passionately, as loyally, as I and my father cared."
"I don't know that, madam; we did love each other. Our love remains unchanged. True love ought never to change, ought it?"
"It ought never to change," repeated Mrs. Wyndham. Her face grew white, her lips trembled. "Sometimes true love is killed by a blow," she said suddenly. Then her expression changed again, she tried to look cheerful. "I won't talk any more. I am sleepy, and that nest near baby looks inviting. Good-night, dear nurse."
"Let me undress you, ma'am. Let me see you in your nest beside the child."
"No. Go now. Or rather--rather--_stay a moment or two longer_. Esther, had you ever the heartache?"
"There are a few women, madam, who don't know what the heartache means."
"I suppose that is true. Once I knew nothing about it. Esther, you are lucky never to have married."
"To marry--to love--and then to lose," dreamily murmured Mrs. Wyndham. "To love, and then to lose. Esther, it is a dreadful thing to be a widow, when you are young."
"But the widow can become a wife again," suddenly replied Esther.
The words seemed forced from her lips; she was sorry the moment she had uttered them.
"I suppose the widows who can become wives again have not lost much," she responded in a cold voice.
Then she moved over to the bedside and began to undress.
A few moments later Esther left her. She felt puzzled, perplexed, unhappy. She had no key to the thoughts which were passing in her mistress' mind. Her impression was that Valentine loved Carr, but felt a certain shame at the fact.