n, and opened my eyes
to settle my perplexity; but this time the face looking down at me was
not Mrs. Blake's. I tried to raise my head on the pillow the better to
see who it was, when the person stooped near to me and said: "You are
coming back to us, Medoline." I wondered who was calling me by that name.
No one save Mr. Winthrop and Mrs. Flaxman were in the habit now of doing
so; but my strength was so rapidly waning I could neither see nor hear
very distinctly. After a few seconds, once more rallying all my forces,
I looked up again.

"Who is it?" I whispered.

"Do you not know me, Medoline?"

"Is it,"--I paused, trembling so with excitement I could scarce
articulate,--"is it Mr. Winthrop?"

"Yes, little one."

The old caressing name he had given me long ago, surely he must have
forgiven me or he would not use it now. But I was not satisfied without
the assurance that we were to take up again the kindly relations of the
past; and so with an effort that seemed likely to sweep me back
dangerously near that shore I had so lately been skirting, I looked up
and said: "I am sorry I displeased you; won't you forgive me?" My voice
was so weak I was afraid he could not catch the words I uttered; but he
folded my thin, shadowy hand in his, which seemed so strong and muscular
I fancied it could hold me back from the gates of Death if its owner so
willed, and after a few seconds' silence, he said, gently: "You must
never think of that again, Medoline. Just rest, and come back to us.
We all want you more than we can tell."

"Then I am forgiven, and you will trust me once more," I pleaded softly.

"Yes, Medoline, as I expect to be trusted by you," he said, with a
solemnity that made me tremble. My eyes closed in utter weariness and
then I seemed to be floating, floating over summer seas, and under such
peaceful, blessed skies, I began to wonder if I was not passing out to
the quiet coast bordering on the Heavenly places.

Of one thing only was I certain--the hand that still held mine, which
kept me from drifting quite away from the shores of time. I tried to
cling to it, but my hand could only lie nerveless within its firm grasp.
I believed if once the hold was loosened I should slip quietly out into
the broader sea just beyond me. I wondered which was best--life or
death,--then far down in my soul I seemed to grow strong, and could
calmly say, "as God wills;" and for a long time I seemed to be passively
awaiting His wil