n be well. This is your
nurse." He said nothing of the others, who were so placed behind screens
as to be invisible to her.

She continued to gaze, first at one, then at the other; confidently at
the doctor, doubtfully at the nurse. As she did so, the flush faded and
gave way to an anxious, troubled expression. Not just the expression
anticipated by those who believed that, with returning consciousness,
would come returning memory of the mysterious scene which had taken place
between herself and sister, or between her sister and her brother, prior
to Adelaide's departure for The Whispering Pines. Had they shared my
knowledge--had they even so much as dreamed that their patient had been
the companion of one or both of the others in this tragic escapade--how
much greater would have been their wonder at the character of this
awakening.

"You have the same kind look for me as always," were her next words, as
her glance finally settled on the doctor. "But hers--Bring me the
mirror," she cried. "Let me see with my own eyes what I have now to
expect from every one who looks at me. I want to know before Lila comes
in. Why isn't she here? Is she with--with--" She was breaking down, but
caught herself back with surprising courage, and almost smiled, I was
told. Then in the shrill tones which will not be denied, she demanded
again, "The mirror!"

Nurse Unwin brought it. Her patient evidently remembered the fall she had
had in her sister's room, and possibly the smart to her cheek when it
touched the hot iron.

"I see only my forehead," she complained, as the nurse held the mirror
before her. "Move it a little. Lower--lower," she commanded. Then
suddenly "Oh!"

She was still for a long time, during which the nurse carried off
the glass.

"I--I don't like it," she acknowledged quaintly to the doctor, as he
leaned over her with compassionate words. "I shall have to get
acquainted with myself all over again. And so I have been ill! I
shouldn't have thought a little burn like that would make me ill. How
Adelaide must have worried."

"Adelaide is--is not well herself. It distressed her to have been out
when you fell. Don't you remember that she went out that night?"

"Did she? She was right. Adelaide must have every pleasure. She had
earned her good times. I must be the one to stay home now, and look after
things, and learn to be useful. I don't expect anything different. Call
Adelaide, and let me tell her how--how satisfied