Then I thought, "It must be all imaginary; I doubt whether I am awake yet. If she were only smiling instead of crying, I would like to dream on forever. How strangely familiar her face is! I must have seen it daily for years, and yet I can't recognize it." The loud whinny of a horse seemed to give my paralyzed memory an impetus and suggestion, by means of which I began to reconstruct the past. "That's Old Plod!" I exclaimed mentally. "And--and--why, that's Miss Warren sitting by the window. I remember now. We were in the barn together, and I was jealous of the old horse--how absurd! Then we were in the garden, and she was laughing at me. How like a dream it all is! It seemed as if she were always laughing, and that the birds might well stop singing to listen. Now she is crying here in my room. I half believe it's an apparition, and that if I speak it will vanish. Perhaps it is a warning that she's in trouble somewhere, and that I ought to go to her help. How lovely she looks, with her hands lying in her lap, forgetful of the work they hold, and her tearful eyes fixed on the glowing west! Her face is very pale in contrast. Surely she's only a shadow, and the real maiden is in need of my aid;" and I made an effort to rise. It seemed exceedingly strange that I could scarcely lift my hand; but my slight movement caused her to look around, and in answer to my gaze of eager inquiry she came softly and hesitatingly toward me. "Miss Warren," I said, "can it be you in very truth?" "Yes," she replied, with a sudden and glad lighting up of her face, "but please don't talk." "How you relieve me," I tried to say joyfully, but I found I could only whisper. "What the mischief--makes my voice--so weak? Do you know--that I had the odd--impression--that you were an apparition--and had come to me--as a token--that--you were in trouble--and I tried to rise--to go to your aid--then it seemed yourself--that looked around. But you _are_ in trouble--why can't I get up and help you?" She trembled, and by her gesture tried to stop my words. "Will you do what I ask?" she said, in a low, eager tone. I smiled as I replied, "Little need of your asking that question." "Then please try to get well speedily; don't talk, but just keep every little grain of strength. Oh, I'm so glad you are in your right mind. You have been very ill, but will soon get well now if only careful. I'll call Mrs. Yocomb." "Please don't go," I whispered. "Now that I know you--it seems so natural--that you should be here. So I've been ill--and you have taken care of me;" and I gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. "I did not know you at first--idiot!--but Old Plod whinnied--and then it all began to come back." At the word "Old Plod" she turned hastily toward the door. Then, as if mastered by an impulse, she returned, and said, in a tone that thrilled even my feeble pulse: "Oh, live! in mercy live, or else I can never forgive myself."