rom the chair and led her to the sofa, where she sank
heavily down upon the cushions.

Without comment or resistance, she drank a glass of strong cordial
which he held to her lips, and lay with her eyes closed, while tears
still trickled through the long jet lashes.

She wore a robe of white merino, and a rich blue shawl of the same
soft material which was folded across her shoulders, made the wan face
look like some marble seraph's, hovering over an altar where violet
light streams through stained glass.

For some time Dr. Grey walked up and down the long room, glancing
now and then at his patient, and when he saw that the tears had
ceased, he brought from a basket in the hall an exquisitely
beautiful and fragrant bouquet of the flowers which he knew she
loved best,--heliotrope, violets, tube-rose, and Grand-Duke
jessamine, fringed daintily with spicy geranium leaves, and scarlet
fuchsias.

Silently he placed it on her folded hands, and the expression of
surprise and pleasure that suddenly lighted her countenance, amply
repaid him.

"Dr. Grey, it has been my wish to except services from no one,--to owe
no human being thanks; but your unvarying kindness to my poor Elsie
and to me, imposes a debt of gratitude that I can not easily
liquidate. I fear you are destined to bankrupt me, for how can I hope
to repay all your thoughtful, delicate care, and generous interest in
a stranger? Tell me in what way I can adequately requite you."

Dr. Grey drew a chair close to the sofa, and answered,--

"Take care lest your zeal prove the contrary, for you know a
distinguished philosopher asserts that, 'Too great eagerness to
requite an obligation is a species of ingratitude;' and such an
accusation would be unflattering to you, and unpleasant to me."

Turning the bouquet around in order to examine and admire each flower,
Mrs. Gerome toyed with the velvet bells, and said, sorrowfully,--

"Their delicious perfume always reminds me of my beautiful home near
Funchal, where heliotrope and geraniums grew so tall that they looked
in at my window, and hedges of fuchsias bordered my garden walks.
Never have I seen elsewhere such profusion and perfection of
flowers."

"When were you in Madeira?"

"Two years ago. The villa I occupied was situated on the side of a
mountain, whose base was covered with vineyards; and from a grove of
lemon and oleanders that stood in front of the house I could see the
surging Atlantic at my feet, and