"God help me," he went on, "and save Elsie as He has saved me—from myself—through it all. I see it now—through all my life—my own fool will, my obstinacy, madness, sin—unseeingness: brought me through it all, back to my own, my family name, my earldom—my own—Great God, think of it—what has been done to unseeing, uncaring me! How much I have received—how little I have earned!" I left him a strong man pacing the floor, his face aglow with a new life. Elsie had slept twelve hours. "We can’t awaken her," said the doctor as I went in after a short sleep. "I suspect you possess unconsciously hypnotic power, Jack. It all looks like it. You must awaken her if you can. I don’t wish to use heroic means." "If I have," I said, "I am not aware of it. But let me talk to her. And if you please I would rather only Marget stayed." "Surely," he said nodding. "If she wakens we want no one with her but you. And you’ll just keep her thinking she’s at her old place by the dairy." I sat down by her, taking her hand in the old way. She was smiling in her sleep. Then I said laughingly in her ear, slapping her cheek with the back of my hand, "Wake up, little Heart’s Ease; we are going to the spring. It’s Jack. I will not go unless you go with me, to gather the Bluebells of Scotland on the hills—come—wake up!" Instantly she sat up, her blue eyes resting calmly on me. "Jack," she said, putting her arms about my neck, "I had wondered—I have worried because—for so long a time I seem not to be able to remember—where you were." I laughed. "Nonsense; you have only dreamed a bad dream last night," said I. Marget was bustling around the room pretending to clean up. Her voice choked so that she could scarcely speak and yet she said bravely, "Surely, Elsie. It is as Mr. Jack says. You’ve been sick a little and had bad dreams." Elsie clung to me sobbing. "Jack, my bonny Jack," she said, "it’s good of you, but I am all right now; I am strong again, so much stronger than you would ever believe." "You must not let yourself think of anything unpleasant," I said quietly, "for my sake now, Elsie, and daddy’s." "I couldn’t, Jack," she said with all her old frank candor, "with you here. It all came because I thought you were gone. Call Daddy in," she said firmly, "I want to talk to you all." Colonel Goff was already in the room, the smile on his face telling of his great joy. He knelt by the bedside, kissing her. He was laughing boyishly. "Bless me, but my Lady Elsie is feeling fine, isn’t she?" said he. Elsie nodded happily. "And you and I have been so blind, Daddy," she said, laying her hand on mine. "So blind, both of us. Now, you know what we are going to do? I am going to be very strong and well in a few days and then we are all going to our English home, you and me, Marget and Tammas, and we are going to find Eloise. Find her, Daddy, and make her well—for Jack—if it takes half of all that earldom of yours."