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As a result of this riot of emotions I resolved to remain all day in my
room, and towards evening to send out a letter bidding him good-bye and
good-luck. It would be a cold end to a long friendship and my heart was
almost frozen at the thought of it, but it was all I dared do and I saw
no help for it.
But how little did I know what was written in the Book of Fate for me!
First came Price on pretence of bathing my forehead, and she bombarded
me with accounts of Martin's anxiety. When he had heard that I was ill
he had turned as white as if sixteen ounces of blood had been taken out
of him. It nearly broke me up to hear that, but Price, who was artful,
only laughed and said:
"Men _are_ such funny things, bless them! To think of that fine young
man, who is big enough to fell an ox and brave enough to face a lion,
being scared to death because a little lady has a headache."
All morning she was in and out of my room with similar stories, and
towards noon she brought me a bunch of roses wet with the dew, saying
that Tommy the Mate had sent them.


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