And still there is some good in her,—some sense of right and justice, as was shown by what she did when Guy was at the worst of the terrible fever which followed his coming home. I watched him constantly. I would not even let Julia Hamilton share my vigils, and one night when I was worn out with fatigue and anxiety I fell asleep upon the lounge, where I threw myself for a moment. How long I slept I never knew, but it must have been an hour or more, for the last thing I remember was hearing the whistle of the Western train and the distant sound of thunder as if a storm were coming, and when I awoke the rain was falling heavily and the clock was striking twelve, which was an hour after the train was due. It was very quiet in the room, and darker than usual, for some one had shaded the lamp from my eyes as well as Guy’s, so that at first I did not see distinctly, but I had an impression that there was a figure sitting by Guy near the bed. Julia most likely, I thought, and I called her by name, feeling my blood curdle in my veins and my heart stand still with something like fear when a voice I knew so well and never expected to hear again, answered softly: "It is not Julia. _It’s I._" There was no faltering in her voice, no sound of apology. She spoke like one who had a right to be there, and this it was which so enraged me and made me lose my self-command. Starting to my feet, I confronted her as she sat in my chair, by Guy’s bedside, with those queer blue eyes of hers fixed so questioningly upon me as if she wondered at my impertinence. "_Miss McDonald_," I said, laying great stress on the name, "why are you here, and how did you dare come?" "I _was_ almost afraid, it was so dark when I left the train, and it kept thundering so," she replied, mistaking my meaning altogether, "but there was no conveyance at the station and so I came on alone. I never knew Guy was sick. Why did you not write and tell me? Is he very bad?" Her perfect composure and utter ignoring of the past provoked me beyond endurance, and without stopping to think what I was doing, I seized her arm, and drawing her into an adjoining room, said, in a suppressed whisper of rage: "Very bad,—I should think so. We have feared and still fear he will die, and it’s all your work, the result of your wickedness, and yet you presume to come here into his very room,—you who are no wife of his, and no woman either, to do what you have done." What more I said I do not remember. I only know Daisy put her hands to her head in a scared, helpless way, and said: "I do not quite understand it all, or what you wish me to do." "Do?" I replied. "I want you to leave this house immediately,—_now_, before Guy can possibly be harmed by your presence. Go back to the depot and take the next train home. It is due in an hour. You have time to reach it." "But it is so dark, and it rains and thunders so," she said, with a shudder, as a heavy peal shook the house and the rain beat against the windows.