She folded her hands limply on her bosom, and drawing a cheek and shoulder toward each other, replied:-- "Nuttin'"-- The questioner's severity darkened. "Why do you smile at nothing?" She laid the tips of her fingers upon her lips to compose them. "You din come in you' carridge. She goin' to thing 'tis Miche Reechin." The smile forced its way through her fingers. The visitor turned in quiet disdain and went upstairs, she following. At the top he let her pass. She led the way and, softly pushing open the chamber-door, entered noiselessly, turned, and, as the other stepped across the threshold, nestled her hands one on the other at her waist, shrank inward with a sweet smile, and waved one palm toward the huge, blue-hung mahogany four-poster,--empty. The visitor gave a slight double nod and moved on across the carpet. Before a small coal fire, in a grate too wide for it, stood a broad, cushioned rocking-chair, with the corner of a pillow showing over its top. The visitor went on around it. The girlish form lay in it, with eyes closed, very still; but his professional glance quickly detected the false pretence of slumber. A slippered foot was still slightly reached out beyond the bright colors of the long gown, and toward the brazen edge of the hearth-pan, as though the owner had been touching her tiptoe against it to keep the chair in gentle motion. One cheek was on the pillow; down the other curled a few light strands of hair that had escaped from her brow. Thus for an instant. Then a smile began to wreath about the corner of her lips; she faintly stirred, opened her eyes--and lo! Dr. Sevier, motionless, tranquil, and grave. "O Doctor!" The blood surged into her face and down upon her neck. She put her hands over her eyes, and her face into the pillow. "O Doctor!"--rising to a sitting posture,--"I thought, of course, it was my husband." The Doctor replied while she was speaking:-- "My carriage broke down." He drew a chair toward the fireplace, and asked, with his face toward the dying fire:-- "How are you feeling to-day, madam,--stronger?" "Yes; I can almost say I'm well." The blush was still on her face as he turned to receive her answer, but she smiled with a bright courageousness that secretly amused and pleased him. "I thank you, Doctor, for my recovery; I certainly should thank you." Her face lighted up with that soft radiance which was its best quality, and her smile became half introspective as her eyes dropped from his, and followed her outstretched hand as it rearranged the farther edges of the dressing-gown one upon another. "If you will take better care of yourself hereafter, madam," responded the Doctor, thumping and brushing from his knee some specks of mud that he may have got when his carriage broke down, "I will thank you. But"--brush--brush--"I--doubt it." "Do you think you should?" she asked, leaning forward from the back of the great chair and letting her wrists drop over the front of its broad arms.