Gilead stood some moments regarding the beautiful picture with the enthusiasm of a virtuoso. “It would be a black shame,” was something of his thought, “to let this fine work fall into the clutches of a Vandal!” The terms of the advertisement were in his mind. “It looks like a cataleptic seizure,” he said to the girl. “Is she subject to them, do you know?” The tweenie shook her poor little watery noddle. “I’ve never known her do the like,” she said, “since I come here.” “How long ago was that?” “A week, sir,” said the girl. “I’ve been with her ever since she took the ’ouse a week ago.” “Well,” he said, “you’d better go for the doctor at once.” The words were hardly out of his mouth, when the girl gasped: “I see her lids twitch! She’s a’comin’ to!” It appeared that she was right. Some perceptible emotion stirred under the wax-like surface; the flush of pink deepened in the rounded cheeks. The suddenness of the change confirmed Gilead in his suspicion. “These instant recoveries,” he thought, “are characteristic of the complaint.” He backed towards the door. “She mustn’t find me here,” he whispered. “The shock might cause a relapse. I’ll wait outside. Let me know by and by if she wishes, or does not wish, to see me.” Even as he spoke, a deep sigh issued from the sleeper’s lips, and he went hastily from the room, closing the door behind him. He had, not, however, lingered, the most scrupulous of intruders, ten minutes in the little cold hall, when the girl came out to him radiant. “She’d like to see you now, sir, if you please,” she said. CHAPTER II. THE QUEST OF THE SLEEPING BEAUTY (_continued_) Gilead re-entered the quiet little room with a feeling as if he were desecrating a woodland shrine. As yet he could not associate that figure of immortal loveliness with the piteous vision of the advertisement. He saw her risen to greet him, all warm and flushed, a maid, yet seeming young-motherly in the soft plenitude of her form, with evidences of some suppressed emotion in her eyes. Her drooped right hand held the telegram. She addressed him in a voice of sweet low embarrassment:-- “Your visit, I am afraid, was badly timed--for me. I am so sorry. It has reference, I understand, to my advertisement in the _Daily Post_. Will you please tell me in what way?” She motioned him to seat himself, and herself sank somewhat languidly upon the sofa she had just quitted. “I trust,” he began; but she stopped him:-- “Please do not speak of it. It was a momentary recurrence of a seizure which had overtaken me once before, and was due--” She paused. “To the receipt of a telegram?” he suggested gently. She turned her head away; then refaced him, with a deeper flush on her cheeks. “I am quite recovered,” she said. “I am very much to blame for my weakness.” “I beg you not to think me impertinent,” said Gilead. “Your servant volunteered the information.” She smiled, a little wanly.