Doctor Louis came daily, and we indulged in conversation; and frequently before he left me made similar passes across my forehead, which had the effect of producing slumber. After a time I spoke of this, and we conversed upon the subject. I had read a great deal concerning mesmerism and clairvoyance, and Doctor Louis expressed surprise at the extent of my information on those subjects. He said he was glad to perceive that I was a student, and I replied that my chiefest pleasures had been derived from books. At length I was convalescent, and, for the first time for many weeks, I enjoyed the open air. We sat in the garden, and I was enchanted with its beauties, which seemed all to radiate from Lauretta. It was she who imparted to surrounding things, to flowers, to trees, to grassy sward and floating cloud, the touch of subtle sweetness which made me feel as if I had found a heaven upon earth. On that day, for the first time, our hands met. She gathered fruit, and we ate it slowly. Lauretta's mother sat nearest to me, engaged upon a piece of embroidery. Lauretta, waiting upon us, came and went, and my eyes followed the slight figure wherever she moved. When she disappeared into the house I did not remove my eyes from the door through which she had passed until she emerged from it again. Once or twice, meeting my gaze, she smiled upon me, and I was agitated by an exquisite joy. Doctor Louis, wearing a hat which shaded his brows, sat at a little distance, sometimes reading, sometimes contemplating me with attention. "You must be glad to be well," said Lauretta's mother. I answered, "No, I regret it." "Surely not," she said. "Indeed it is so," I replied. "I am afraid that the happiest dream of my life is drawing to an end." "The days must not be dreamt away," she said, with grave sweetness; "life has duties. One's ease and pleasure--those are not duties; they are rewards, all the more enjoyable when they have been worthily earned." "Earned in what way?" I asked. "In administering to others, in accomplishing one's work in the world." "How to discover what one's work really is?" I mused. "That is not difficult, if one's nature is not wedded to sloth." "And where," I continued, "supposing it to be discovered, should it be properly performed?" "In one's native land," she said. "He belongs to it, and it to him." "There have been missionaries who have done great good." "They could have done as much, perhaps more, if they had devoted themselves to the kindred which was closest to them." "Not that I have a desire to become a missionary," I said. "I have not within me the spirit of self-sacrifice. I have been travelling for pleasure." "It is right," she said, quickly, "it is good. Do not think I mean to reproach you. Had I a son, and could afford it, I would bid him travel for a year or two before he settled down to serious labour." "It was my good fortune that I resolved to see the world, for it has brought me to this happy home."