Nick called from the sitting-room:  “How do you feel?  Are you all right?” And when she answered “Yes,” tried to reassure her.  It began to look as if there were much to fear.  Luckily he had come in time.  Was she sure she hadn’t held the leaves near her face?  No.  Then she might hope that there would be no trouble now.  Already he had bundled the bunch of fire into a newspaper and it had been taken out of the room to be destroyed, like a wicked witch.  Luckily there were people who could touch poison-oak and suffer no harm.  Nick told Angela he “felt in his bones” that no evil thing could have power over her.

Soon, almost before she could have believed it possible, the messenger arrived with a strange assortment of packets from the chemist.  Nick shouted that all was ready, and she went back to the sitting-room, her hands dripping ammonia.  Kate had been summoned, and having just appeared, was about to empty a large flower bowl, which Nick had ordered her to wash.  The Irish girl was pale, and looked dazed.  She knew nothing yet of what had happened, but guessed at some mysterious accident to her mistress.

A great bouquet of roses which Nick had sent that morning now lay on a side table, and into the flower bowl they had adorned he poured the lime-water.  In this he soaked the gamgee tissue (Angela had never heard of the stuff before), and bade her hold out both hands.  Then he bound them quickly and skilfully, intent on what he was doing, though his head was bent closer to Angela’s than it had ever been before, and the fragrance of her hair was sweet, as in his dreams of angels.  As for her, she felt a childlike confidence in his ability to cure her, to save her from harm.

Over the tissue, wet with lime-water, Nick wrapped bandages of lint; and the operation finished, Angela was as helpless as if she had pulled on a pair of tight, thick gloves whose fingers would not bend.

“Does this mean that we aren’t to go to-night?” she asked mournfully.

“I hope it doesn’t mean that.  But we can’t be dead certain yet,” answered Nick.  He looked at her searchingly, his face drawn and anxious; but it relaxed as if he were suddenly relieved from some great strain as his eyes travelled over the smooth, pure features, and met her questioning gaze at last with assurance.

“If we are not certain soon, it will be too late to start, and I can’t bear to put off going.  I’m looking forward to the trip so much!” she said.  “Shall we dine here?  You’ll have to feed me, I’m afraid.”  She laughed; but a slow flush crept up to Nick’s forehead.

“Would you let me?”

“Yes.  Why not?  If you don’t mind.  Anything rather than miss our train—­unless some horrid symptoms are coming on that you haven’t the courage to tell me about.  Ring for dinner, Kate.  And you can go and have yours.  We’ll do everything exactly as if we expected to start.”

“Sure, ma’am, don’t make me leave the room till I’ve heard what Mr. Hilliard has to say.  I’m that worried till I know the worst,” Kate pleaded.