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something like it in the past； a street…lamp crowned and
caked upon the windward side with snow； the wind uttering its
mournful hoot； himself looking on； even as now； but the cold
had struck too sharply on his wits； and memory failed him as
to the date and sequel of the reminiscence。
His next conscious moment was on the Dean Bridge； but whether
he was John Nicholson of a bank in a California street； or
some former John； a clerk in his father's office； he had now
clean forgotten。 Another blank； and he was thrusting his
pass…key into the door…lock of his father's house。
Hours must have passed。 Whether crouched on the cold stones
or wandering in the fields among the snow； was more than he
could tell； but hours had passed。 The finger of the hall
clock was close on twelve； a narrow peep of gas in the hall…
lamp shed shadows； and the door of the back room … his
father's room … was open and emitted a warm light。 At so
late an hour； all this was strange； the lights should have
been out； the doors locked； the good folk safe in bed。 He
marvelled at the irregularity； leaning on the hall…table； and
marvelled to himself there； and thawed and grew once more
hungry； in the warmer air of the house。
The clock uttered its premonitory catch； in five minutes
Christmas…day would be among the days of the past …
Christmas！ … what a Christmas！ Well； there was no use
waiting； he had come into that house； he scarce knew how； if
they were to thrust him forth again； it had best be done at
once； and he moved to the door of the back room and entered。
Oh； well； then he was insane； as he had long believed。
There； in his father's room； at midnight； the fire was
roaring and the gas blazing； the papers； the sacred papers …
to lay a hand on which was criminal … had all been taken off
and piled along the floor； a cloth was spread； and a supper
laid； upon the business table； and in his father's chair a
woman； habited like a nun； sat eating。 As he appeared in the
doorway； the nun rose； gave a low cry； and stood staring。
She was a large woman； strong； calm； a little masculine； her
features marked with courage and good sense； and as John
blinked back at her； a faint resemblance dodged about his
memory； as when a tune haunts us； and yet will not be
recalled。
'Why； it's John！' cried the nun。
'I dare say I'm mad；' said John； unconsciously following King
Lear； 'but； upon my word； I do believe you're Flora。'
'Of course I am；' replied she。
And yet it is not Flora at all； thought John； Flora was
slender； and timid； and of changing colour； and dewy…eyed；
and had Flora such an Edinburgh accent？ But he said none of
these things； which was perhaps as well。 What he said was；
'Then why are you a nun？'
'Such nonsense！' said Flora。 'I'm a sick…nurse； and I am
here nursing your sister； with whom； between you and me；
there is precious little the matter。 But that is not the
question。 The point is： How do you come here？ and are you
not ashamed to show yourself？'
'Flora；' said John； sepulchrally； 'I haven't eaten anything
for three days。 Or； at least； I don't know what day it is；
but I guess I'm starving。'
'You unhappy man！' she cried。 'Here； sit down and eat my
supper； and I'll just run upstairs and see my patient； not
but what I doubt she's fast asleep； for Maria is a MALADE
IMAGINAIRE。'
With this specimen of the French； not of Stratford…atte…Bowe；
but of a finishing establishment in Moray Place； she left
John alone in his father's sanctum。 He fell at once upon the
food； and it is to be supposed that Flora had found her
patient wakeful； and been detained with some details of
nursing； for he had time to make a full end of all there was
to eat； and not only to empty the teapot； but to fill it
again from a kettle that was fitfully singing on his father's
fire。 Then he sat torpid； and pleased； and bewildered； his
misfortunes were then half forgotten； his mind considering；
not without regret； this unsentimental return to his old
love。
He was thus engaged； when that bustling woman noiselessly re…
entered。
'Have you eaten？' said she。 'Then tell me all about it。'
It was a long and （as the reader knows） a pitiful story； but
Flora heard it with compressed lips。 She was lost in none of
those questionings of human destiny that have； from time to
time； arrested the flight of my own pen； for women； such as
she； are no philosophers； and behold the concrete only。 And
women； such as she； are very hard on the imperfect man。
'Very well；' said she； when he had done； 'then down upon your
knees at once； and beg God's forgiveness。'
And the great baby plumped upon his knees； and did as he was
bid； and none the worse for that！ But while he was heartily
enough requesting forgiveness on general principles； the
rational side of him distinguished； and wondered if； perhaps；
the apology were not due upon the other part。 And when he
rose again from that becoming exercise； he first eyed the
face of his old love doubtfully； and then； taking heart；
uttered his protest。
'I must say； Flora；' said he； 'in all this business； I can
see very little fault of mine。'
'If you had written home；' replied the lady； 'there would
have been none of it。 If you had even gone to Murrayfield
reasonably sober； you would never have slept there； and the
worst would not have happened。 Besides； the whole thing
began years ago。 You got into trouble； and when your father；
honest man； was disappointed； you took the pet； or got
afraid； and ran away from punishment。 Well； you've had your
own way of it； John； and I don't suppose you like it。'
'I sometimes fancy I'm not much better than a fool；' sighed
John。
'My dear John；' said she； 'not much！'
He looked at her； and his eye fell。 A certain anger rose
within him； here was a Flora he disowned； she was hard； she
was of a set colour； a settled； mature； undecorative manner；
plain of speech； plain of habit … he had come near saying；
plain of face。 And this changeling called herself by the
same name as the many…coloured； clinging maid of yore； she of
the frequent laughter； and the many sighs； and the kind；
stolen glances。 And to make all worse； she took the upper
hand with him； which （as John well knew） was not the true
relation of the sexes。 He steeled his heart against this
sick…nurse。
'And how do you come to be here？' he asked。
She told him how she had nursed her father in his long
illness； and when he died； and she was left alone； had taken
to nurse others； partly from habit； partly to be of some
service in the world； partly； it might be； for amusement。
'There's no accounting for taste；' said she。 And she told
him how she went largely to the houses of old friends； as the
need arose； and how she was thus doubly welcome as an old
friend first； and then as an experienced nurse； to whom
doctors would confide the gravest cases。
'And； indeed； it's a mere farce my being here for poor
Maria；' she continued； 'but your father takes her ailments to
heart； and I cannot always be refusing him。 We are great
friends； your father and I； he was very kind to me long ago …
ten years ago。
A strange stir came in John's heart。 All this while had he
been thinking only of himself？ All this while； why had he
not written to Flora？ In penitential tenderness； he took her
hand； and； to his awe and trouble； it remained in his；
compliant。 A voice told him this was Flora； after all … told
him so quietly； yet with a thrill of singing。
'And you never married？' said he。
'No； John； I never married；' she replied。
The hall clock striking two recalled them to the sense of
time。
'And now；' said she； 'you have been fed and warmed； and I
have heard your story； and now it's high time to call your
brother。'
'Oh！' cried John； chap…fallen； 'do you think that absolutely