e talk about?"
she asked. A momentary agitation brought a flush to her face. "I can't
remember it," she said; "I can't remember when you went away: does it
matter?" Benjulia replied, "Not the least in the world. Go to sleep."

But he still remained in the room--watching her as she grew drowsy.
"Great weakness," Mr. Null whispered. And Benjulia answered, "Yes; I'll
call again."

On his way out, he took Teresa aside.

"No more questions," he said--"and don't help her memory if she asks
you."

"Will she remember, when she gets better?" Teresa inquired.

"Impossible to say, yet. Wait and see."

He left her in a hurry; his experiments were waiting for him. On the way
home, his mind dwelt on Carmina's case. Some hidden process was at work
there: give it time--and it would show itself. "I hope that ass won't
want me," he said, thinking of his medical colleague, "for at least a
week to come."

The week passed--and the physiologist was not disturbed.

During that interval, Mr. Null succeeded in partially overcoming the
attacks of sickness: they were less violent, and they were succeeded by
longer intervals of repose. In other respects, there seemed (as Teresa
persisted in thinking) to be some little promise of improvement. A
certain mental advance was unquestionably noticeable in Carmina. It
first showed itself in an interesting way: she began to speak of Ovid.

Her great anxiety was, that he should know nothing of her illness.
She forbade Teresa to write to him; she sent messages to Mr. and Mrs.
Gallilee, and even to Mr. Mool, entreating them to preserve silence.

The nurse engaged to deliver the messages--and failed to keep her word.
This breach of promise (as events had ordered it) proved to be harmless.
Mrs. Gallilee had good reasons for not writing. Her husband and Mr.
Mool had decided on sending their telegram to the bankers. As for
Teresa herself, she had no desire to communicate with Ovid. His absence
remained inexcusable, from her point of view. Well or ill, with or
without reason, it was the nurse's opinion that he ought to have
remained at home, in Carmina's interests. No other persons were in
the least likely to write to Ovid--nobody thought of Zo as a
correspondent--Carmina was pacified.

Once or twice, at this later time, the languid efforts of her memory
took a wider range.

She wondered why Mrs. Gallilee never came near her; owning that her
aunt's absence was a relief to her, but not feeling intere