when she looked up again with a sigh, and fixed her eyes
mechanically on the page before her, there was a trace of tears upon the
drooping lashes.

He awoke from a refreshing slumber and it seemed that the fever was
gone; for his glance was calm and clear, and the old smile was upon his
lips. When he beheld Oriana, a slight flush passed over his cheek.

"Are you indeed there, Miss Weems," he said, "or do I still dream? I
have been dreaming, I know not what, but I was very happy." He sighed,
and closed his eyes, as if he longed to woo back the vision which had
fled. She seemed to know what he had been dreaming, for while his cheek
paled again, hers glowed like an autumn cloud at sunset.

"I trust you are much better, Mr. Wayne?"

"Oh yes, much better. I fear I have been very troublesome to you all.
You have been very kind to me."

"Do not speak so, Mr. Wayne," she replied, and a tear glistened in her
eyes. "If you knew how grateful we all are to you! You have suffered
terribly for my sake, Mr. Wayne. You have a brave, pure heart, and I
could hate myself with thinking that I once dared to wrong and to insult
it."

"In my turn, I say do not speak so. I pray you, let there be no thoughts
between us that make you unhappy. What you accuse yourself of, I have
forgotten, or remember only as a passing cloud that lingered for a
moment on a pure and lovely sky. There must be no self-reproaches
between us twain, Miss Weems, for we must become strangers to each other
in this world, and when we part I would not leave with you one bitter
recollection."

There was sorrow in his tone, and the young girl paused awhile and gazed
through the lattice earnestly into the gathering gloom of evening.

"We must not be strangers, Mr. Wayne."

"Alas! yes, for to be otherwise were fatal, at least to me."

She did not answer, and both remained silent and thoughtful, so long,
indeed, that the night shadows obscured the room. Oriana arose and lit
the lamp.

"I must go and prepare some supper for you," she said, in a lighter
tone.

He took her hand as she stood at his bed-side and spoke in a low but
earnest voice:

"You must forget what I have said to you, Miss Weems. I am weak and
feverish, and my brain has been wandering among misty dreams. If I have
spoken indiscreetly, you will forgive me, will you not?"

"It is I that am to be forgiven, for allowing my patient to talk when
the doctor prescribes silence. I am going to get your sup