When I came back to Ronald, I found him comfortably drowsy, and ready for a long night's rest. He really was too sleepy to ask any more questions, or even to wonder what the doctor and I had been saying to each other in the entry. I had a bright fire burning in the bedroom, and I carried the shaded lamp out of the parlour, and sat down to sew by my husband's bedside. He soon fell into a sound slumber. I sat sewing, and listening to his regular breathing, thinking of the time when he would be quite strong and well again. The future had to be faced. Illness is a terrible thing to people whose means are small. Our scanty purse could hardly meet all the demands that Ronald's sickness had made upon it. Expensive medicine and nourishment—heavy lodging-house bills—fees to servants—all amounted to a sum total that made my brain dizzy when I thought of it. One of Lady Waterville's parting prophecies had been already fulfilled. I wished I could forget her words, but they were haunting my memory to-night. She had said that before the first year of my married life had ended, I should taste poverty. Then there would be disappointment—then bitter regret. Why did she say such things? Even if my future had been verily revealed to her, she might have closed her lips, and let me go my way. I would scarcely acknowledge that I knew the taste of poverty yet; but some of its bitterness I did know. Well as I loved my nurse, it hurt my pride to live in her house, and get into her debt, as I was doing now. It is true that she gladly trusted me, and had perfect confidence in the coming of better days; but I smarted secretly under the sense of humiliation. Some women were clever enough to bring grist to the mill, but I was not of that gifted sisterhood. Story-writing was far beyond my powers, and although I could make little songs for Ronald to sing, I was by no means tempted to fancy myself a poet. All the talents that I possessed were decidedly commonplace. Sewing, converting old gowns into new, mending neatly, and wearing shabby clothes in a way that did not reveal their shabbiness, this was almost all that I could do. Well, I was tasting some of the bitterness of the poverty; but how about the disappointment and the bitter regret? Nothing would persuade me that I should ever be disappointed in Ronald. Mine was not a blind love. I had never thought that I was marrying a perfect being; nor did I want perfection. To me, the poor human idol, full of divers faults and flaws, was far dearer than an immaculate saint set high above my head. The warm room and the monotonous work began to have a sleepy influence upon me at last. I had spent many wakeful nights, and now that the anxiety was ended, I often found myself dropping off unawares into a nap. With my sewing still in my hands, I dozed sitting in the chair, and then I had a curious dream.