in the course of the night, to save her
devoted servant. It was no less than her duty: still, before humiliating
Orion so deeply she would warn him. The thought of charging him with so
shameful a deed pained her like the need for inflicting an injury on
herself. She hated him, but she would rather have broken the most
precious work of art than have branded him--him whose image still reigned
in her heart, supremely glorious and attractive.

Instead of following Mary to breakfast, or offering herself as usual to
play draughts with her uncle, she went back to the sick-room. To meet
Neforis or Orion at this moment would have been painful, indeed odious to
her. It was long since she had felt so weary and oppressed. A
conversation with the physician might perhaps prove refreshing; after the
various agitations of the last few hours she longed for something, be it
what it might, that should revive her spirits and give a fresh turn to
her thoughts.

In the Masdakite's room the Sister coldly asked her what she wanted, and
who had given her leave to assist in tending the sufferers. The leech,
who at that moment was moistening the bandage on the wounded man's head,
at this turned to the nun and informed her decidedly that he desired the
young girl's assistance in attending on both his patients. Then he led
the way sitting-room, saying in subdued into the adjoining tones:

"For the present all is well. Let us rest here a little while."

She sat down on a divan, and he on a seat opposite, and Philippus began:

"You were seeking handsome Orion just now, but you must. . . ."

"What?" she asked gravely. "And I would have you to know that the son of
the house is no more to me than his mother is. Your phrase 'Handsome
Orion' seems to imply something that I do not again wish to hear. But I
must speak to him, and soon, in reference to an important matter."

"To what, then, do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here again? To
confess the truth I did not hope for your return."

"And why not?"

"Excuse me from answering. No one likes to hear unpleasant things. If one
of my profession thinks any one is not well. . . ."

"If that is meant for me," replied the girl, "all I can tell you is that
the one thing on which I still can pride myself is my health. Say what
you will--the very worst for aught I care. I want something to-day to
rouse me from lethargy, even if it should make me angry."

"Very well then," replied the leech, "though I a