g in the coal-scuttle at the side, of the fireplace, he
found both sticks and coals, and heaped them on: then he lighted the
lamp that was still standing on the table. All this was the work of
a minute or two. A fainting-fit was quite beyond the range of his
experience, but he had some vague idea that in cases of the kind water
should be dashed in the face or a smelling-bottle held to the nostrils
or brandy poured down the throat; but none of these things were at
hand, and as he looked at Bessie, hesitating what to do, he saw the
color steal back to her face, and she opened her eyes and suddenly
shut them. When she opened them again she took his presence as a
matter of course, and said, "I sometimes walk in my sleep, I know, but
I am not in the habit of fainting;" and she smiled, looking much more
like the lily than the rose.

"I hope not," he said.

"It was the fright I got when I woke and saw where I was. I shouldn't
have been frightened, for I knew the place as well as I know this
room, and could have found my way back in the dark."

"What can I get for you?--you must have something." It is an awkward
thing when a nurse has to seek directions from a patient.

"Nothing," she said: "I can take nothing, and I am quite well. I can't
think how I was so foolish as to scream, and I am sorry for disturbing
you."

"You did not disturb me: if I had been asleep I should never have
heard you."

"I wish you had been asleep."

"You might have fallen through the rafters and been hurt or perished
of cold."

"I shouldn't have fallen through the rafters: I should have come to
myself and have walked back quite well alone; but I am not the less
obliged to you."

"I should say not," he said with a curl of sarcasm. "Then is there
nothing I can do for you?"

"Nothing, unless, indeed, you could get hot water for me to wash my
feet in. Sleeping as I was, I had the good sense to put on a thick
shawl, but I made my excursion barefoot: they say walking barefoot
improves one's carriage."

"Bessie, I never know what to make of you."

"If you know what to make of yourself it's a great matter: sometimes
people don't know that," she said, rather wearily.

"I had better make myself scarce at present, probably?" he said.

"I think so."

"Then good-night. You won't faint again?"

"No: good-night."

He left the room and shut the door gently, but when a few paces away
some impulse moved him to go back: she might faint again, and h