omething too good to be true--a divine presence that might
vanish if he moved. Or, perhaps, she might fade back into a frame and
prove to be only another of the portraits that hung about the room. So
far as he could judge, with his slowly awakening senses, he was gazing
upon the most entrancing face he had ever beheld. At first the face was
unfamiliar, but soon, with returning memory, he recalled it. But it
seemed thinner now. There were dark lines beneath the eyes, and
something about the mouth gave an impression of weariness and care; and
these were not in the face as he had known it. However, the closed lids,
and the head resting calmly against the back of the high chair made a
tranquil picture. For a long time he lay immovable, his eyes drinking in
the vision. There was nothing to disturb the silence save the solemn
ticking of a clock in another part of the cottage. He heard, beyond the
big tapestry, the sound of a dog snapping at a fly. Pats smiled and
would have whistled to Solomon, but he remembered the weary angel by his
bed. With a sort of terror he recalled this lady's capacity for
contempt.

Being too warm for comfort he pushed, with exceeding gentleness and
caution, the bed-clothes farther from his chin. But the movement,
although absolutely noiseless, as he believed, caused the eyes of the
sleeper to open. She arose, then stood beside him. A cool hand was laid
gently upon his forehead; another drew up the bed-clothes to his chin,
as they were before. With anxious eyes he studied her face, and when he
found therein neither contempt nor aversion he experienced an
overwhelming joy. And she, detecting in the invalid's eyes an unwonted
look, bent over and regarded him more intently. As his eyes looked into
hers he smiled, faintly, experimentally, in humble adoration. The face
above him lit up with pleasure. In a very low tone she exclaimed:

"You are feeling better!"

He undertook to reply but no voice responded. He tried again, and
succeeded in whispering:

"Has anything happened?"

"You have been very ill."

"How long?"

"This is the eighth day."

"The eighth day!" He frowned in a mental effort to unravel the past.
"Then I must have been--out of my head."

"Yes, most of the time." She was watching him with anxious eyes.
"Perhaps you had better not talk much now. Try and sleep again."

"No, I am--full of sleep. Is this the same house--we discovered that
first day?"

"Yes."

He closed his eyes,