features was not all fire-shine, the starlight in the dreamy eyes not all reflected gleams from the burning logs upon the hearth. Both had their birth within, where the greatest of all human happiness had been kindled—but not by Arnold’s hand. Thus half an hour, and then an hour, slipped past. Lulled by her thoughts and the absolute quiet about her, Nora sank into a doze. The firelight faded into the distance, and half-dreaming, half-waking, she drifted into a chaotic world of fancies and realities. She dreamed at last that some one called her by name. She did not answer, and the call grew louder, more persistent. It seemed to drag her against her will back to full sensibility, and with a violent start Nora’s eyes opened, and she knew that the voice had not been part of her dreams, but that Hildegarde was calling her with monotonous reiteration. "Nora! Nora!" "Yes, I am here. What is it?" Nora drew softly to the bedside and took the outstretched hand in hers. It burnt, as though the feverish sparkle in the wide-opened eyes was but a signal of an inner devouring fire, and there was something, too, in the feeble smile which hurt Nora by reason of its very piteousness. "I ought not to have disturbed you," Hildegarde said in a dry whisper. "It was selfish of me, but you looked so happy that I thought you could spare me a moment. I have been so frightened." "Frightened, dear? Of what?" "I do not know—of myself, I think." She turned her fair head restlessly on the pillow, as though seeking to retrace some thought, and then once more she lifted her eyes to Nora. They seemed unnaturally large in the half-darkness, and their expression strangely penetrating. Nevertheless, when she spoke again Nora felt that they sought rather to convey a message than to question. "Nora, you will laugh at me—I want to know, have I been talking—in my sleep, I mean?" "No." "I am glad." Again the same half-pleading, half-frightened smile played about the colourless lips. "I have been having such mad dreams—not bad dreams—only so—so untrue, so unreal. I should not have liked you to know them. You might have thought——" She stopped, and her clasp tightened. "You know how I love you, don’t you, Nora?" "Yes, I think so—more than I deserve." "Not as much, but still, very dearly. That was what I wanted to tell you. It seems foolish—in the middle of the night like this; but I was so afraid you would not understand. You do, though, don’t you?" "Of course." Nora spoke soothingly, but with a dim knowledge that she had not wholly understood. There was, indeed, a message in those broken sentences, but one to which she had no key.