d nothing, not even the long, dark
scar running from eye to chin could rob the face of its individuality and
suggestion of charm. She was lovely; but it was the loveliness of line
and tint, just as a child is lovely. Soul and mind were still asleep, but
momentarily rousing, as all thought, to conscious being--and, if to
conscious being, then to conscious suffering as well.

It was a solemn moment. If the man who loved her had been present--or
even her brother, who, sullen as he was, must have felt the tie of close
relationship rise superior even to his fears at an instant so
critical,--it would have been more solemn yet. But with the exception of
the doctor and possibly the nurse, only those interested in her as a
witness in the most perplexing case on the police annals, were grouped
in silent watchfulness about the room, waiting for the word or look
which might cut the Gordian knot which none of them, as yet, had been
able to untangle.

It came suddenly, as all great changes come. One moment her lids were
down, her face calm, her whole figure quiet in its statue-like repose;
the next, her big violet eyes had flashed open upon the world, and lips
and limbs were moving feebly, but certainly, in their suddenly recovered
freedom. It was then--and not at a later moment when consciousness had
fully regained its seat--that her face, to those who stood nearest wore
the aspect of an angel's. What she saw, or what vision remained to her
from the mysterious world of which she had so long been a part, none ever
knew--nor could she, perhaps, have told. But the rapture which informed
her features and elevated her whole expression but poorly prepared them
for the change which followed her first glance around on nurse and
doctor. The beam which lay across the bed had been no brighter than her
eye during that first tremulous instant of renewed life. But the clouds
fell speedily and very human feelings peered from between those lids as
she murmured, half petulantly:

"Why do you look at me so? Oh, I remember, I remember!"

And a flush, of which they little thought her weakened heart capable,
spread over her features, hiding the scar and shaming her white lips.
"What's the matter?" she complained again, as she tried to raise her
hands, possibly to hide her face. "I cannot move as I used to do, and I
feel--I feel--"

"You have been ill," came soothingly from the doctor. "You have been in
bed many days; now you are better and will soo