"With you here this bright morning, how could I want anything more?" I asked, with a smile, for her young, beautiful face comported so well with the early morning of the summer day as to greatly please both my eye and fancy. The color of the early morning grew richer in her face as she replied: "I'm glad thee doesn't want me to go away, but I must go and have thy breakfast brought up." "No, stay; tell me all that's happened. I seem to have forgotten everything so strangely! I feel as if I had known you all a long time, and yet that can't be, for only the other day I was at my office in New York." "Mother says thee's too weak to talk yet, and that I must not answer questions. She says thee knows thee's been sick and thee knows thee's getting well, and that must do till thee's much stronger." "Oh, I feel ever so much stronger. Sleep and the good things your mother has given me have made a new man of me." "Mother says thee has never been sick, and that thee doesn't know how to take care of thyself, and that thee'll use thy strength right up if we don't take good care of thee." "And are you going to take care of me?" "Yes, if thee pleases. I'll help mother." "I should be hard to please were I not glad. I shall have so nice a time getting well that I shall be tempted to play sick." "I'll--I'll wait on thee as long as thee'll let me, for no one owes thee more than I do." "What in the world do you owe me?" I asked, much perplexed. "If you are going to help me to get well, and will come to my room daily with a face like this summer morning, I shall owe you more than I can ever repay." "My face would have been black enough but for thee; but I'm glad thee thinks I look well. They are all saying I look pale and am growing thin, but if thee doesn't think so I don't care," and she seemed aglow with pleasure. "It would make a sick man well to look at you," I said, smiling. "Please come and sit by me and help me to get my confused brain straight once more. I have the strangest sense of not knowing what I ought to know well. You and your kind father and mother brought me home from meeting. Your mother said I might stay here and rest. Miss Warren was here--she was singing in the parlor. Where is Miss Warren?" "She has gone out for a walk," said the girl a little coldly. Her manner perplexed me, and, together with my thought of Miss Warren, there came a vague sense of trouble--of something wrong. I tried to raise my hand to my brow, as if to clear away the mist that obscured my mind, and my hand was like lead, it was so heavy. "A plague on my memory!" I exclaimed. "We were in the parlor, and Miss Warren was singing. Your mother spoke--would that I might hear her again!--it's all tolerably clear up to that time, and then everything is confused." "Adah, how's this?" said Mrs. Yocomb reproachfully. "Thee was not to let Richard Morton talk."