“Yes, but I know that dear Elfie has been with me all the time in this room. Whenever I have had a glimpse of consciousness I have seen her by my bed. Dear Elfie!” continued Erminie, turning to her nurse—“dear, dear Elfie, how shall I ever be grateful enough to you?” “There shall be no such word as ‘grateful’ between you and me, Erminie. Or, if there must be, it is I who must be grateful—first to the Lord for giving me so dear a friend and continuing her to me; and next to you for your love since childhood, and your protection since the war.” “Don’t say that, Elfie,” said Erminie. “Oh, my darling, I am so rejoiced that you are better!” exclaimed Elfie. “So am I,” said Erminie, frankly. “I have something to live for now. And I had rather live, if it please the Lord. _My father is living._” As Erminie spoke these last four inexplicable words, Elfie started violently, and even Britomarte changed countenance. They were both alarmed. They both thought that Erminie had been talking too much and had become dangerously excited, and that another paroxysm of fever and delirium was imminent. But this was not so. With Erminie convalescence had set in strongly and decidedly, supported by her young and vigorous constitution. And when the two girls looked again at Erminie they were reassured by her perfect ease and quietness. “Did you hear me say, girls, that my dear father is living?” she calmly inquired. “Yes,” said Miss Conyers, speaking with an apparent composure that was very far from her real condition—“yes; but why do you think so?—I mean, how do you know it?” “I will tell you, dear, some other time. Now I do not feel equal to the theme. And besides—Elfie, dear,” she said, turning to her nurse, “I am so hungry.” It was a “word and a blow,” for before Erminie had finished speaking Elfie had whisked from the room. And in ten minutes she returned with a little tray covered with a white napkin, and a cup of weak green tea, and a round of delicate brown toast. Erminie drank the tea with a great enjoyment, and even ate a morsel of the toast. “I could drink another, only I do not think it would be prudent, and so I will refrain,” she said, as she gently pushed away the tray. “No, it would not be prudent, dear. When the doctor comes, we will ask what you may take, and how much of it. And I only hope he may say you may eat and drink as much as ever you like of whatever you fancy,” said Elfie, as she removed the little service. “Elfie, darling, did I dream I saw, or did I really see my dear brother Justin by my bed?” inquired Erminie, with an effort at recollection. “You really saw him, love. He is in the house,” replied Elfie, very much relieved to find the way opened so easily for introducing Justin, without too greatly surprising Erminie in her weak condition.