“Come in—­or shut the door!”

“I’ll come in, if you please,” answered an amused voice, which, though soft and low, possessed a penetrating quality which made it easily audible to the deaf man.  He had never heard it before; but either because of this quality, or for some other more occult reason, he conceived a most decided liking for it.

It’s owner now became visible.  She was a delicate-looking girl, with a pale, conch-shell complexion, brown hair as fine as silk, and pleasant, serene, gray eyes.  She was dressed very simply in white, with a blue band across her hair, and a blue scarf and sash around throat and waist.  Her face, though showing signs of quiet strength, and of a self-confidence which was the flower of maidenly modesty and innocence, was not beautiful according to any recognized standard.  Bressant, from his intuitive perception of form and proportion, was aware of this.  The forehead was too high, the nose irregular, the mouth lacked the perfect curve, and the teeth, though white and even, were not small enough for beauty.

Nevertheless, Bressant was at once impressed with the young girl’s presence.  It was as if an ethereal cloud—­such as that which, shone through by white sunlight, was just floating past the window—­had eddied unexpectedly into his chamber, cooling and quieting him with the freshness of its heavenly vapor.  Her eyes met his with a simple directness which made his glance waver, though he was not given to humility.  Something, whereof neither science nor philosophy can take cognizance, seemed to emanate from her, elevating while it humbled him.

“If I’d known who you were, I—­I shouldn’t have asked you to shut the door!” said he, in an apologetic tone quite new to him.

“And how do you know who I am?” inquired the vision, with a refreshing smile.

“I meant, what sort of a person you were; but you must be Miss Sophie:  only I thought she was ill.”

“I am Miss Sophie, but I’m not to be thought ill any more.  One invalid in the house is enough.  I’m going to nurse you, and, since I’m well, you may be twice as ill as ever, if you choose.”

“Well!” said Bressant, quite resignedly.  He was becoming a very respectable patient.

“In what way do you want to be taken care of?” resumed the nurse with a cheerful, business-like gravity which was at once becoming and piquant.

“Stay here and talk; I like to hear your voice:  and you look so cool and pleasant.”

Very few people could oppose this young man in any thing; he knew so well what he wanted, and demanded it so uncompromisingly.  But Sophie’s sense of fitness and propriety was as sound and impenetrable as adamant, and scarcely to be affected by any human will or consideration.  She felt there was something not quite right in his manner and in the nature of his demand; and, being in the habit of making people conform to her ideas, rather than the reverse, she at once determined to correct him.