ogne tucked under his arm. Kneeling by the sofa, he gently
turns her face to the light, and sprinkles it with water; then bathes,
with cologne, the white temples and soft, rippling, sunny hair. How
sweet a face it is that lies there, all unconscious, so close to his
beating heart! Though colorless and marble-like, there is beauty in
every feature, and signs of suffering and pain in the dark circles about
the eyes and in the lines at the corners of the exquisite mouth. Even as
he clumsily but most assiduously mops with his one available hand and
looks vaguely around for feminine assistance, Major Abbot is conscious
of a feeling of proprietorship and confidence that is as unwarranted,
probably, as it is new. 'Tis only a faint, he is certain. She will come
to in a moment, so why be worried? But then, of course, 'twill be
embarrassing and painful to her not to find some sympathetic female face
at hand when she does revive; and he looks about him for a bell-rope:
none nearer than the room, and he hates to leave her. At last comes a
little shivering sigh, a long gasp. Then he holds the goblet to her lips
and begs her to sip a little water, and, somehow, she does, and with
another moment a pair of lovely eyes has opened, and she is gazing
wildly into his.

"Lie still one minute," he murmurs. "You have been faint; I will bring
your friends."

But a little hand feebly closes on his wrist. She is trying to speak;
her lips are moving, and he bends his handsome head close to hers;
perhaps she can tell him whom to summon.

But he starts back, amazed, when the broken, half-intelligible, almost
inaudible words reach his ears,

"Paul! Papa--said--you were killed. Oh! he will be so glad!"

And then comes a burst of tears.

[Illustration: "_Then bathes, with cologne, the white temples and soft,
rippling, sunny hair._"]

Abbot rises to his feet and hurries into the hall. He is bewildered by
her words. He feels that it must be some case of mistaken identity,
but--how strange a coincidence! Close by the fragments of the phials he
finds a door key and the presumable number of her room. Only ten steps
away from the little flight of stairs he finds a corresponding door,
and, next, an open room. Looking therein, he sees a gentle, matronly
woman seated by a bedside, slowly fanning some recumbent invalid. She
puts her fingers on her lips, warningly, as she sees the uniform at her
door.

"Do not wake him, it is the first sound sleep he h