Inexpressibly comforted, she rose from her knees, extinguished the light, and lay down to seek repose. Weariness soon overcame her, and she fell asleep to dream of one whose image was impressed on her young heart. Again in her visions she was pressed to his breast, and words and protestations poured like a strain of rich and soothing music on her ear. Oh, gladly would she have died in that blissful dream. But through the window of her apartment the sun streamed, announcing that the morning was far advanced, and she opened her eyes to behold the appearance of a young female, of high rank, attired in a rich morning-dress. She made an effort to rise, but her strength had been overtasked by the intense emotions of her mind. In the exertion, she fell forward fainting and powerless at the intruder’s feet. When Grace Bartlett recovered, she found herself on the bed partially undressed, the young lady holding a bottle of smelling-salts, which had evidently been used, and the attendant, Susette, bathing her temples and hands with cold water. For nearly an hour she hovered between sense and consciousness. Her head felt as if bound to the pillow by weights of lead, and she had an incessant burning and throbbing of all her pulses, accompanied by sharp pain. Her eyes closed upon the light, and she was in dreamland again. Still her consciousness was not lost, but there were, for a few passing moments, sounds in her ear like those of which she had dreamed. It seemed almost as if an angel’s voice now roused her, for the strange lady, bending over her, said in accents of almost unearthly tenderness, “You are ill, sweet maiden, speak to me.” She paused, and her tones fell musically on the senses of the unhappy guest, for those notes of sympathy had reached even to her apathetic ear. Grace attempted to reply, but utter exhaustion followed, and tears alone attested all she felt. These proved no relief, however, and before night Georgiana Lincoln watched over her in the strong paroxysms of a brain fever. CHAPTER IX. A cloud of darkest gloom has wrapt The remnant of my brief career. Margaret Davidson. It would be equally needless and painful to linger over the sufferings of the sick maiden. The fever, which the terrible and agitating scenes she had passed through had excited, was so long in being subdued that those who watched her trembled lest the loss of either life or reason should ensue. When this was overcome it seemed as if she must sink under the exhaustion which followed. Her constitution, however, though delicate was good, and after weeks of unconscious agony, she did indeed appear sensible of the fond cares of the young, high-bred lady who was continually by her side.