"Terribly clear. I suppose I have been delirious?" "Yes, you have known none of us for five days. Here, drink this, the doctor said you must have it the instant you waked." "To keep me from dying? Why should I live? I remember everything so vividly, and while custom made you all try to save me, you are obliged to know it would have been better, more kind and merciful, to have let me die at once. Give me some water." After some seconds, she wearily put her hand to her head, and a ghostly smile hovered over her mouth. "All my hair cut off? No matter now, Belmont will never see me again, and I only cared for my glossy locks because he was so proud of them. Poor darling." She groaned, knitted her brows, and shut her eyes; and though she did not speak again, Regina knew that she lay wrestling with bitter memories. When her mother came back, she turned her face toward the wall, and Mrs. Palma eagerly exclaimed: "My darling, do you know me? Kiss your mother." Olga only covered her face with her hands and said wearily: "Don't touch me yet, mamma. You have broken my heart." At the expiration of the fifth day of convalescence, Olga was wrapped in warm shawls and placed on the couch, which had been drawn near the grate where a bright fire burned. Thin and wan, she lay back on the cushions and pillows, with her wasted hands drooping listlessly beside her. Moody, and taciturn, she refused all aid from any but Regina, and mercilessly exacted her continual presence. By day the latter waited upon and read to her; by night she rested on the same bed, where the unhappy woman remained for hours awake, and inconsolable, dwelling persistently upon her luckless fate. At Mrs. Palma's suggestion her stepson had not visited the sick-room since the recovery of Olga's consciousness; and being closely confined to the limits of the apartment, Regina had not seen her guardian for several days. About three o'clock in the afternoon, when she had finished brushing the short tangled hair that clung in auburn rings around the invalid's forehead, Olga said: "Read me the 'Penelope.'" Regina sat down on a low stool close to the couch, and while she opened the book and read, Olga's right arm stole over her shoulder. At the opposite side of the hearth her mother sat, watching the pair; and she saw the door open sufficiently to admit Mr. Palma's head. Quickly she waved him back with a warning gesture; but he shook his head resolutely, advanced a few steps, and stood in a position which prevented the girls from discovering his presence. As Regina paused to turn a leaf, Olga began a broken recitation, grouping passages that suited her fancy: "Yea, love, I am alone in all the world, The past grows dark upon me where I wait. * * * * * Behold how I am mocked! * * * * *