Neil nodded and remained silent for a few moments. Then, turning, with a sad smile on his face:

"It was only a vain dream, my dear old friend. I loved, and forgot, in my blindness, that I was not a frank, handsome man of the world; that I was only a dull, thoughtful student, with few of the qualities that please women. She would have none of me, and perhaps she was wise."

"No," said Sir Denton sharply; "there was no wisdom in the woman who would refuse you. Some giddy, dress-loving, shallow creature, who--"

Neil held up his hand.

"No," he said fervently. "The wisest, sweetest, and most refined lady that ever breathed."

"Ah!" exclaimed Sir Denton. "I was glad a few minutes ago, for I thought you had had an escape; that, like so many more able men, you had been dazzled by the outside of some bright, fashionable b.u.t.terfly. Now I can condole with you. Then there must have been a reason--another was in the way?" Neil was silent.

"Ah, that is bad. Well, out of the bad good often comes, my dear boy.

You see how fatherly I have grown toward you, Elthorne; and some day I may, after all, be able to congratulate you on a happy union."

"Never, sir."

"Who knows?" said the old surgeon, smiling. "Well, I am no matchmaker, only your old friend and master, and I speak very plainly to you. Do you know, Elthorne, that there is one woman in the world whom I have often thought should be your wife?"

Neil looked at him wildly.

"A refined, graceful lady, with a heart of gold, if you could win her.

I have seen little things, too, at times, which have made me think that my hopes would bear fruit."

Neil half turned away, and the old man sat tapping the top of his hat with the tips of his thin, white fingers, as he went on dreamily.

"I ought not to have given my mind to such matters, but the thoughts came unbidden, and I said to myself, it would be the perfection of a union; and, old bachelor as I am, I would have given her away as if she had been my own child."

Neil's head began to droop, but the old man's mind was so deeply immersed in the subject nearest his heart that he did not see the change in his pupil's face.

"Like the meddlesome old idiot I was, I s.n.a.t.c.hed at the opportunity of bringing you together, and insisted upon her coming down to your father's place to tend him."

A low sigh escaped from Neil's breast.

"For I said to myself: the old man will see her and learn her value, and the sweetness of her nature. He will be ready to open his arms to her, and call her daughter when the son has spoken to her; and I thought I was doing right to you both. Neil, my lad, you ought to have had more confidential moments with me, and told me that you already loved. I had no right to know, my dear boy, but it would have saved much pain. I love Lady Cicely very dearly--as much as if she were my own flesh and blood."

Neil looked up at the old man wonderingly, but he was gazing down at his hat.

"Yes, bless her!" he continued, repeating his words, "as if she were my own flesh and blood; and this misfortune--I can call it nothing else-- hurts me very much, and I am certain it will grieve her terribly, for she loves you, my boy, I am sure."

"My dear Sir Denton--Lady Cicely?" cried Neil, looking at him as if doubting his sanity. "Whom do you mean?"

"Oh! I had forgotten. Of course you do not know--Lady Cicely, the late Duke of Atheldene's daughter--Nurse Elisia--my dear young friend, who gave up her life of luxury and ease to devote herself as you have seen."

"Sir Denton!"

"Yes, my dear boy, it is so. Don't look at me as if you thought I were wandering. That was my castle in the air, Neil Elthorne, and I am deeply grieved for both your sakes. Ah, how easily we clever men, as we think ourselves, are deceived. But, as your old friend, my boy, may I ask--some lady--in your neighbourhood--an attachment, perhaps, of many years?"

Neil looked at him wildly and his lips were quivering with the agony still so new.

"I beg your pardon, my dear boy," said Sir Denton softly. "I ought not to have laid my hand so roughly on the wound. Forgive me."

Neil remained silent for a few minutes, and Sir Denton rose to go.

"There, then, my dear boy," he said in a different tone, "I consider, then, that the appointment is settled and you will go?"

"Yes, Sir Denton. My preparations will be very few. I shall be ready to go by this vessel if the authorities are willing."

"And G.o.d speed you in your work!"

"And G.o.d speed me in my work!" said Neil solemnly.

Sir Denton grasped the young surgeon's hand, holding it firmly.

"Come and dine with me to-night, and we'll have a long chat over it. I dare say I can give you a few useful hints. I must go to the hospital now. Good-bye for the present."

But Neil held his hand firmly still.

"Wait a moment," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "You accuse me of want of confidence in you. I am not the kind of man who babbles about the strongest feeling of his nature."

"No, no, my dear boy; forgive me. And I ought not to have torn open your wound again by my thoughtless question."

"I will confide in you now, Sir Denton."

"No, no, my dear boy. Leave it all unsaid."

"No; there is no time like the present. You ought to know, and I can never revive the subject again. Possibly, in the future, the opportunity may never come."

"What do you mean?"

"I am not blind to the risk of going to such a place. I don't suppose I shall return."

"My dear boy, if you are going to take that morbid view of the task,"

cried Sir Denton, "you shall not go. But pish! you are low-spirited now from the refusal you have had. Work, man, work. _Au revoir_."

"Sir Denton," said Neil gravely, "you must know the truth now. In ignorance of her early life, I loved Nurse Elisia very dearly."

"Then, my dear boy--" cried the old man excitedly.

"Stop, sir; you were mistaken. I asked her to be my wife."

"Mistaken? She refused you? Impossible!"

"No, sir; it is the simple fact."

"But--you hinted, or I said--dear me, how confused I am--that the lady you proposed to, refused you--a prior attachment--another gentleman?"

"Yes; my own brother."