s of watching and tending have
brought back to you," I answered--for with such a woman I must be plain!
"Had I seen the smallest sign of decay, I would at once have buried
you."

"Dog of a fool!" she cried, "I was but in a trance--Samoil! what a
fate!--Go and fetch the she-savage from whom you borrowed this hideous
disguise."

"I made it for you. It is hideous, but I did my best."

She drew herself up to her tall height.

"How long have I been insensible?" she demanded. "A woman could not have
made that dress in a day!"

"Not in twenty days," I rejoined, "hardly in thirty!"

"Ha! How long do you pretend I have lain unconscious?--Answer me at
once."

"I cannot tell how long you had lain when I found you, but there was
nothing left of you save skin and bone: that is more than three months
ago.--Your hair was beautiful, nothing else! I have done for it what I
could."

"My poor hair!" she said, and brought a great armful of it round from
behind her; "--it will be more than a three-months' care to bring YOU
to life again!--I suppose I must thank you, although I cannot say I am
grateful!"

"There is no need, madam: I would have done the same for any woman--yes,
or for any man either!"

"How is it my hair is not tangled?" she said, fondling it.

"It always drifted in the current."

"How?--What do you mean?"

"I could not have brought you to life but by bathing you in the hot
river every morning."

She gave a shudder of disgust, and stood for a while with her gaze fixed
on the hurrying water. Then she turned to me:

"We must understand each other!" she said. "--You have done me the two
worst of wrongs--compelled me to live, and put me to shame: neither of
them can I pardon!"

She raised her left hand, and flung it out as if repelling me. Something
ice-cold struck me on the forehead. When I came to myself, I was on the
ground, wet and shivering.

CHAPTER XX. GONE!--BUT HOW?

I rose, and looked around me, dazed at heart. For a moment I could not
see her: she was gone, and loneliness had returned like the cloud after
the rain! She whom I brought back from the brink of the grave, had fled
from me, and left me with desolation! I dared not one moment remain thus
hideously alone. Had I indeed done her a wrong? I must devote my life to
sharing the burden I had compelled her to resume!

I descried her walking swiftly over the grass, away from the river, took
one plunge for a farewell restorative, and set