The lady lay on her couch, behind white bed curtains, in a lace-trimmed night-dress. She had wound about her head the Turkish kerchief which was inseparably associated with her headaches. The lamp stood a little in the background, with a shade of soft, fluttering red paper over it. She was leaning on one elbow which was buried deep in the pillow, and she languidly extended the free left hand; a weary, agonized gaze followed. How beautiful she was! Magnhild was hers again, hers so completely that she flung herself over her and wept. As though under the influence of an electric shock the sick woman sat up and casting both arms about Magnhild pressed her to her own warm, throbbing form. She wanted to appropriate all this comprehension and sympathy. "Thanks!" she whispered over Magnhild. Her despair quivered through every nerve of her body. Gradually her arms relaxed and Magnhild rose. Then the lady sank back among the pillows and begged Magnhild to fetch a chair and sit by her. "The walls have ears," she whispered, pointing to the door. Magnhild brought the chair. "No, here on the bed," said the lady, making room beside her. The chair was set aside again. The lady took Magnhild's hand and held it in both of hers. Magnhild gazed into her eyes, which were still full of tears. How good, how true, how full of comprehension she looked! Magnhild bent down and kissed her. The lips were languid. "I sent for you, Magnhild," said she, softly. "I have something to say to you. Be not afraid,"--a warm pressure of the hand accompanied these words; "it is not my own history--and it shall be very brief; for I feel the need of being alone." Here the tears rolled down over her cheeks. She was aware of it and smiled. "You are married--I do not understand how, and I do not wish to know!" A tremor ran through her and she paused. She turned her head aside for a moment. Presently she continued: "Do not attempt"--but she got no farther; she drew away both hands, covered her face, and flinging herself round, wept in the pillow. Magnhild saw the convulsive quivering of back and arms, and she rose. "How stupid that was of me," she heard at last; the lady had turned round again, and now bathed eyes and brow with an essence which filled the room with perfume. "I have no advice to give you--besides, of what use would it be? Sit down again!" Magnhild sat down. The lady laid aside the phial and took Magnhild's hand in both of hers. She patted and stroked it, while a long, searching gaze followed. "Do you know that you are the cause of what happened to-day?" Magnhild flushed as though she were standing before a great fire; she tried to rise, but the lady held her fast. "Be still, my child! I have read his thoughts when we were together. You are pure and fine--and I--!" She closed her eyes and lay as still as though she were dead. Not a sound was heard, until at last the lady drew a long, long breath, and looked up with a gaze so full of suffering!