utting his food small for him. She moved to the
side of the bed.

"Now bring the chair near and dress me. It is being in this room so
long, and looking at that miserable little bit of sunshine that comes in
through the shutter, that is making me so ill. Always that lion's paw!"
she said, with a look of disgust at it. "Come and dress me." Gregory
knelt on the floor before her, and tried to draw on one stocking, but
the little swollen foot refused to be covered.

"It is very funny that I should have grown so fat since I have been
so ill," she said, peering down curiously. "Perhaps it is want of
exercise." She looked troubled and said again, "Perhaps it is want of
exercise." She wanted Gregory to say so too. But he only found a larger
pair; and then tried to force the shoes, oh, so tenderly, on to her
little feet.

"There," she said, looking down at them when they were on, with the
delight of a small child over its first shoes, "I could walk far now.
How nice it looks!"

"No," she said, seeing the soft gown he had prepared for her, "I will
not put that on. Get one of my white dresses--the one with the pink
bows. I do not even want to think I have been ill. It is thinking and
thinking of things that makes them real," she said. "When you draw
your mind together, and resolve that a thing shall not be, it gives way
before you; it is not. Everything is possible if one is resolved," she
said. She drew in her little lips together, and Gregory obeyed her; she
was so small and slight now it was like dressing a small doll. He would
have lifted her down from the bed when he had finished, but she pushed
him from her, laughing very softly. It was the first time she had
laughed in those long, dreary months.

"No, no; I can get down myself," she said, slipping cautiously on to the
floor. "You see!" She cast a defiant glance of triumph when she stood
there. "Hold the curtain up high, I want to look at myself."

He raised it, and stood holding it. She looked into the glass on the
opposite wall.

Such a queenly little figure in its pink and white. Such a transparent
little face, refined by suffering into an almost angel-like beauty. The
face looked at her; she looked back, laughing softly. Doss, quivering
with excitement, ran round her, barking. She took one step toward the
door, balancing herself with outstretched hands.

"I am nearly there," she said.

Then she groped blindly.

"Oh, I cannot see! I cannot see! Where am I?" sh