Miss Russell assured her that Doctor Hendon was eminently sane, and got
her out of the room as soon as possible.

Grace remained, and hour by hour kept her watch at the sick girl's
pillow, laying her magic touch on the burning brow, singing the soft
songs that seemed more than anything else to soothe the sufferer. So
sitting, hour by hour, day after day, the old life seemed to slip away
from Grace Wolfe. She felt it going, felt the change coming on spirit
and thought, but made no effort to hinder the change. All the
restlessness, the wild longing for freedom, the beating her head against
the friendly bars,--where was it now? She was content to sit here,
watching with the nurse the changes that came over the face of their
patient. They talked together in low voices which soothed rather than
disturbed; one asking, the other relating, the woman of experience and
the eager girl exchanged thoughts and confidences. Many times in the day
the girls came to the door, Peggy and the Owls, and now and then an
anxious, frightened freshman. Peggy had longed to assist in the nursing,
but she had too heavy a hand, and hers was not the gift. Gertrude
Merryweather had it, and she sometimes took Grace's place, and sent her
down for a breath of fresh air and a run with Bertha or Peggy on the
lawn. Grace went obediently, for she knew she must keep up her strength;
but she was always back again at the first possible instant, and her
thoughts never seemed to go with her, but stayed at her post.

"My dear," said Miss Russell once, "I cannot let you wear yourself out.
Let Gertrude watch to-night while Miss Carter rests!" But Grace only
said, "I'd give my life if I could, Miss Russell. She's going to get
well if my life can do it!" and Miss Russell, looking into the blue eyes
and meeting the spirit of resolution that shone there, could only kiss
the girl's cheek and pass on.

Lobelia was very ill, and a shadow hung over the whole school. Lessons
went on as usual, but the girls spoke low in their recitations, and
there was an unconscious hurry in both teachers and pupils, all anxious
to get through, to ask and hear the last tidings from the sickroom. In
those days, too, teachers and pupils learned to know each other as never
before. The grave women who cared so much--so strangely much, it often
seemed--whether a lesson were well or ill learned, who made such a fuss
about trifles, and set such hard tasks, and made such unreasonable
rules, behol