And now, as he stood gazing down upon the little white face, suddenly his heart began to beat more quickly and his breath came thick and fast, for he saw that the long black lashes resting upon the waxen cheek were beginning to tremble and to slowly lift themselves up; and the next moment a pair of large, dark, soft eyes were looking straight into his. There was no meaning in that gaze, no surprise or inquiry. It was like the expression in the eyes of a little child just awakened from sleep, before any consciousness of its surroundings has dawned upon it; but David uttered a smothered cry that brought his mother hurrying up. The great dark eyes turned upon her then, and she laid her hand upon David’s shoulder. “Run for the doctor, quick, Davie boy!” she cried in an excited whisper. “Don’t thee linger by the way now. Fetch him as fast as thee can.” No need to tell David not to linger. He was off like a shot almost before the words were spoken. Fortune favored him that day. The doctor, whose experienced eye had that morning detected an approaching change in his little patient’s state, had already set out upon a second visit to the fisherman’s cottage, and David encountered him about a quarter of a mile away from his home. The boy imparted his news with breathless eagerness. The doctor quickened his pace, and in a very few minutes he was standing beside the pallet-bed. The sick child had turned his face away from the light and had closed his eyes again; but when the doctor laid a cool, firm hand upon his head, he started a little, and the dark eyes unclosed once more and fastened upon the doctor’s face. “Well, my little friend, and how are you?” was the kindly inquiry; but the child only looked hard at the speaker and said nothing. “Can you tell me your name, my boy?” was the next question; but still there was no reply. “Perhaps he is a foreigner,” thought Dr. Lighton. “His eyes are dark enough;” and, summoning up first French and then Italian, he tried if he could make himself understood. The child’s dark eyes had never left his face for an instant. Their glance was curiously intent, expressive of some feeling that it was impossible to define, full of a wistful perplexity that was akin to pain, which filled the young doctor with a sort of compassion he did not altogether understand. Quite suddenly the child’s lips unclosed, and he said, very distinctly and softly,— “I understood you before, thank you; but I can speak French too. Is this France?” “No, we are in England, my little man. You are in your own country, and we will soon find your friends for you. What is your name?” A look of distress and perplexity clouded the child’s face. “I don’t know,” he answered. “Don’t know!” repeated Dr. Lighton, kindly. “Well, it will soon come back to you.”