When he was ill with a fever, she held his burning head in her tender arms and soothed his pain.

She administered the simple remedies with which they were provided and nursed him back to health.

Once, when he was only half conscious, he thought he felt her tears fall on his face and her soft warm lips press his; but it might have been a dream.
"You saw no sail this morning, I know; but, there, don't despair, you may yet go home," she said.
"No, Blanche, no; I have given up all hope of ever going home.

We must end our days here." She looked at him with her great blue eyes so soft and tender, and sighed: "I am sorry for you." "Are you not sorry for yourself ?" "No, no; I am not thinking of myself.

I am all alone in the world, and it makes little difference where I am." Her voice faltered, and he saw that she was almost choking with grief, and John Stevens, feeling that he had been too selfish all along, said: "Blanche, forgive me.