ight of excitement of any kind upon him in his weak state, hearing his
voice faintly calling her name, and understanding at once that her
presence had been disclosed, came quietly in with a calm face, as though
her being there was quite commonplace and natural, and taking the plate
from Diana, sat down by the bedside and began to feed him with the bits
of chicken, which was all of the meal of might that he would touch. She
paid no attention to the expression which grew gradually in his feeble
eyes as they rested upon her and followed her motions, at first vaguely,
then with more and more of insistence and recollection.

"Anne?" he murmured, after a while, as if questioning with himself. "It
is Anne?"

She lifted her hand authoritatively. "Yes," she said; "but you must not
talk. Eat."

He obeyed; but he still gazed at her, and then slowly he smiled. "You
will not run away again?" he whispered.

"Not immediately."

"Promise that you will not go to-night or to-morrow."

"I promise."

And then, as if satisfied, he fell asleep.

He slept all night peacefully. But Anne did not once lose consciousness.
At dawn she left her sleepless couch, and dressed herself, moving about
the room cautiously, so as not to awaken the sleeper below. When she was
ready to go down, she paused a moment, thinking. Raising her eyes, she
found herself standing by chance opposite the small mirror, and her gaze
rested half unconsciously upon her own reflected image. She drew nearer,
and leaning with folded arms upon the chest of drawers, looked at
herself, as if striving to see something hitherto hidden.

We think we know our own faces, yet they are in reality less known to us
than the countenances of our acquaintances, of our servants, even of our
dogs. If any one will stand alone close to a mirror, and look intently
at his own reflection for several minutes or longer, the impression
produced on his mind will be extraordinary. At first it is nothing but
his own well-known, perhaps well-worn, face that confronts him. Whatever
there may be of novelty in the faces of others, there is certainly
nothing of it here. So at least he believes. But after a while it grows
strange. What do those eyes mean, meeting his so mysteriously and
silently? Whose mouth is that? Whose brow? What vague suggestions of
something stronger than he is, some dormant force which laughs him to
scorn, are lurking behind that mask? In the outline of the features, the
curve