After a pause she went on: "Of course you will go away as soon as you can; but it's a pity, it
really is; you're ever so much better off here, and you'd soon get used
to the other people in the ward, though they are of a different class
to yourself. But though most of them are very poor and some of them are
usually rough when they are at home, it is wonderfully how patient they
are--you will scarcely ever hear a murmur; only a sigh now and
again--and they are so grateful that sometimes they bring the tears to
your eyes, and it's quite hard to part from them when they get well and
are discharged. But I really mustn't talk to you any more," she
murmured, penitently, and the soft, placid voice ceased.
Ida looked round the ward, her heart beating as fast as her condition
would allow. As Nurse Brown had said, she felt terribly strange and
nervous in the long, whitewashed ward which, however, was rendered
cheerful enough by the dozens of pictures from illustrated papers,
which had been fastened to the walls, and by the vases and great bowls
of flowers which seemed to occupy every suitable spot.
She closed her eyes and tried to think; but she fell asleep instead and
dreamt that she had fallen off Rupert and was lying on the moss beside
the river, quite comfortable and most absurdly content. When she woke
the sister was standing beside her, and nodded with cheerful approval.
"That's better, Miss Heron," she said. "It is quite pleasant to watch
you asleep and not to hear you rambling."
Ida's face flushed.
"Have I been rambling?" she asked. "What have I said? You know my
name!"
The nurse smiled.
"Your things are marked," she explained. "But there was no address,
nothing which could help us to communicate with your friends, or we
would have done so. You will tell us where to send now, will you not?"
Ida blushed again and felt troubled. Why should she annoy and worry the
Herons? She shuddered slightly as she pictured her cousin John standing
beside the bed where the sweet and pleasant-faced sister now stood, and
preaching at her. They would want to take her back to Loburnum Villa;
and Ida regarded the prospect of return to that cheerful abode of the
Christian virtues as a prisoner might regard the prospect of returning
to his gaol. The sister regarded her keenly without appearing to do so.
"Perhaps you would rather remain quietly for a few days, Miss Heron?"
she suggested, sweetly.