She opened her eyes; the mad light of fever shone in them. "Agenor," she whispered. Baranowski bent over her tenderly, answering, "Here I am! What is it?" "Agenor!" she shrieked, "have pity on me and let me die!" She attempted to rise, but he pushed her gently back on the pillows. "Mercy!" she repeated, resisting violently. "You must know I cannot live so any longer. I will not curse you. I will bless you, but let me die. There is the pond." The count was again obliged to hold her till the paroxysms were past. "It has been like this for fourteen hours," he whispered to the doctor. "Chills and fever alternating; and she never ceases repeating those same words. It is heart-breaking." "Yes, it is heart-breaking," was the reply, quietly given, but the words were as cold and sharp as the stab of a dagger. Again the doctor bent over the couch. With the exception of some bruises on her hands and a cut on the right cheek, caused probably by the sharp leaf of a water-flag, there were no injuries perceptible. He took the measure of her temperature and felt her pulse. At his touch she opened her eyes and stared at him. "Dr. Reiser!" she suddenly exclaimed. "You are good. Let me go to the pond. You are a friend of my father, and I must preserve my father from this disgrace." The doctor covered her up carefully and went into the dressing-room. Agenor followed. "What do you think of her?" he inquired, anxiously. "As a medical man, I have little to say," said the old gentleman, roughly. "The external injuries are not worth mentioning. There seem no indications of any inflammatory condition of the lungs or brain. The fever is violent, but not excessive, and is quite explained by the occurrence this morning. If her mind were at rest, or she had fallen into the water accidentally, she would be able to leave her bed in a day or two." "But as it is at present?" said the count, nervously. "It will have a bad ending. I could not swear to it, but it is my conviction. I will put her to sleep with an opiate, and will try to check the fever. I hope by to-morrow her mind will be clear. But what good will that do, since her wish for death has not been created by the fever? She will beg neither you nor me for death to-morrow, but she will find it for herself." Agenor wrung his hands, saying: "I will do anything to quiet her. She looks at everything in too black a light--perhaps I may prove it to her. I shall never desert her, never leave her to her fate, never! I shall watch her carefully, and have her watched." The doctor shook his head.