indeed reported
that little or no progress had been noted during the weeks she had
been under the care of the kindly old professor.

One evening, on returning from the office, I found upon the hall-table
a note in Mrs. Tennison's well-known hand. It had been written from
Longridge Road a few hours before, and in it she asked me to call that
evening as they had returned from France.

Naturally I lost no time in dashing over to Earl's Court, and with
failing heart I entered the well-remembered artistic little
drawing-room where Gabrielle herself, in a cool frock of cream washing
silk trimmed with narrow edgings of jade green, rose smiling to greet
me.

Her face was changed, for her countenance was now bright and
vivacious, and her eyes merry and sparkling. The hard set expression
had gone, and she looked very alert and indescribably sweet.

"Well, Mr. Garfield!" she cried merrily, shaking my hand in warm
welcome, so different from her usual apathetic attitude towards me.
"You see we're back again! Mother has just gone round to Aunt Alice's
in Cromwell Road, but she told me that you would call."

"Well, Miss Tennison!" I exclaimed, holding her soft little hand in
mine, and looking into her eyes. "I hope--I hope that you feel better.
Indeed, you look quite changed!"

"Yes. I can recollect everything now! All the past has come back to
me, thanks to the old Professor. He was so very kind, and so patient
that I can never thank him sufficiently--or you, Mr. Garfield, for
discovering him. I feel quite myself again. And it was all so sudden.
At first, the treatment gave me no relief, my brain seemed so muddled,
but quite suddenly one day I found that I could recollect the
past--all that happened to me on that terrible night. And in three
days the Professor announced that I had quite recovered!"

My heart leapt with joy! She was cured!--cured!

"Tell me all that you recollect regarding the events of that night," I
urged breathlessly as we sat together in the little London
drawing-room. I looked at her countenance and realized now that it was
full of life and animation, how very beautiful she was. How different
from when I had seen her half dragged along the streets of Florence by
her pretended friend Moroni.

But justice was at hand. So I urged her to tell me exactly what
happened. I give it to you, my reader, in my love's own words, just as
she related it to me.

"Well," she said, drawing a long breath. "One night a