Chester Franklyn had fallen in love at first sight with the beautiful creature whose life he had saved. He was afraid that some one would take her away from him if he let her presence be known. "Let me have my chance first," he said to himself, with all the selfish ardor of a young lover. It seemed strange that Kathleen lay passive so long after the fever left her, without seeming to take any interest in anything. They asked her her name; they asked her where her home was, and how she came to be in the river. To everything she answered dreamily: "I do not know." They did not know that before Kathleen had been thrown into the river she had swallowed with her food a potent drug intended to produce death. It was entirely owing to the small quantity of food she had taken that she survived at all, but the strange drug had partially paralyzed her faculties. Memory was dormant, or returned in such faint gleams that it threw no light on her present state. She knew that two beautiful, kindly faces--a woman's old but strangely lovely, and a young man's with deep blue eyes and curls of gold--bent daily over her pillow. She watched them eagerly, she smiled at them faintly and sweetly, but so numb were her reasoning faculties that she did not wonder at their presence there. She was utterly quiescent. Mrs. Franklyn became alarmed, fearing the girl was an idiot, but Chester was indignant at the very idea. "She has had some shock; that is it," he said. "Be patient, grandma. She will come to herself." It was strange how his heart went out to the girl, who lay so silently on the pillow all day, looking up at him with dark, inscrutable eyes, like an infant's in their wondering expression. In a week she seemed stronger. She could sit up in an easy-chair. She even talked a little, but it was just about things that she saw in the room--books, pictures, flowers. She would say, softly: "How sweet! How pretty!" At last she was strong enough to walk about the room. "Grandma, I think she would like it better in the parlor," said Chester, one day. He took her hand and led her into a pretty, cozy apartment. CHAPTER L. "SHE WAS MY MOTHER." "Sweet face, sweet eyes, and gleaming Sun-gifted, mingling hair; Lips like two rosebuds dreaming In June's fruit-scented air." Kathleen sat down in front of a bright coal fire, and leaned her curly head back against the easy-chair. In doing so, her upraised eyes encountered over the mantel the picture of a young girl done in water colors. It was a life-size head and bust, and represented a beautiful young creature with rosy cheeks, pouting lips, dark-blue eyes, and curly golden hair. The expression of the face was piquant and spirited, and greatly resembled Kathleen's own. Kathleen gazed with startled eyes at this beautiful picture, and gasped, faintly: "Who is it?" She was alone with Chester, and as he looked up she saw a shadow of pain cloud his dark-blue eyes.