Day after day went by, and the bodily health of Ellison slowly improved; but his mind continued to wander. Much to the surprise of Liston, in these wanderings he often spoke of one to whom he applied the tenderest name by which man can call a woman, and said that he would soon return to her. “Is our dear little Ella living yet?” he asked one day, looking earnestly at Liston, his large, bright eyes beaming with affection. “Who is Ella?” asked Liston. The question appeared to react upon his state of mind. He became grave and silent for some moments. “I thought Clara was here,” said he, after awhile, in a more serious voice. “Who is Clara?” This question threw him back again into silence, and he lay for more than a minute with his eyes closed. Then he opened them quickly, and glanced around with eager expectation, half rising as he did so from his pillow. A sigh quivered through his white lips as he sunk back, and said, in a sad voice, “I thought she was here.” For some time he lay with closed eyes, and his hands clasped across his bosom. Then looking up again, he asked, “Hasn’t she come yet? It is time she was here.” Bending toward the door, he listened attentively. “She must be here soon.” “Something has delayed her,” said Liston, falling in with the humor of the sick man. “Lie down again and try to sleep. Perhaps she will be here when you awake.” “Hark!” said Ellison. Liston bent his ear for a moment or two. Then the sound of feet moving along one of the distant passages was faintly heard. “She is coming!” exclaimed Ellison, in a voice of exultation. The footsteps approached rapidly. They were at hand; and then the door flew open and a woman entered. “My husband!” fell from her lips as she sprang forward and caught Ellison in her arms, who, sobbing like a child, nestled helplessly, but with the gladness of a half unconscious babe, upon her bosom. Liston gazed on this scene in profound amazement. He expected every moment to see the life-blood again thrown back upon the heart of his sick friend, and his eyes closed once more in dark insensibility. But it was not so. The meeting produced no disastrous shock. “I have been looking for you to come,” said Ellison, lifting his head from the bosom of his wife, after he was a little composed, and gazing into her face. A shadow fell upon the countenance of Clara, and she turned her eyes upon Liston with a look of troubled inquiry. “It is true, as he says,” remarked Liston, perceiving what was in her mind. “He spoke of you, and said you were coming ere I could hear the sound of your approaching footsteps.” “But I heard them,” said Ellison, with a smile that lit up his whole countenance. “And I knew that you were here.” It was now plain to Clara that her husband’s mind had lost its balance. “Has he been sick long?” she asked of Liston.