heads were full of pain, since I knew how sad it was to go on day after day with these puzzling, wearying questions haunting one. Then there came a long, quiet time of utter forgetfulness when I passed down into the very valley of the shadow that Death casts over the nearly disembodied spirit, and here I had rest. When at last I opened my eyes to see the old, accustomed place and faces, I was like a little child. I lay quiet for some time wondering if it were possible for me to lift my hand. It was night, for the lamp was burning, and some one was sitting just within the shadow the lamp shade cast. I hoped it was Mrs. Blake, and lay wondering how I could find out. I tried to lift my head, but found the effort so wearying I went back into brief unconsciousness. Presently my eyes opened again; but this time there was a face bending over my bed, so that I had no need to muster my feeble forces to attract their attention. I smiled up weakly into the face that in the dim light I failed to recognize. "Do you know me, dearie?" I was sure it was Mrs. Blake's voice sounding strong and real. "Is it Mrs. Blake?" I asked uncertainly. "Yes, dearie, it jest is." Then I shut my eyes, so tired I could not even think; but I heard a rustling sound, and a voice, that sounded a long way off, murmur, "Thank God!" The voice sounded familiar, but I could not recall whose it was. I tried to do so, but the effort wearied me. A spoon was put to my lips, the milk that was given to me brought back the long ago times--so long ago, I wondered if now I was an old woman; but after brief reflection I knew this could not be, since Mrs. Blake was still alive, and not much older in appearance than when I saw her last. To make sure of the matter I determined to look at her again, and opened my eyes to settle my perplexity; but this time the face looking down at me was not Mrs. Blake's. I tried to raise my head on the pillow the better to see who it was, when the person stooped near to me and said: "You are coming back to us, Medoline." I wondered who was calling me by that name. No one save Mr. Winthrop and Mrs. Flaxman were in the habit now of doing so; but my strength was so rapidly waning I could neither see nor hear very distinctly. After a few seconds, once more rallying all my forces, I looked up again. "Who is it?" I whispered. "Do you not know me, Medoline?" "Is it,"--I paused, trembling so with excitement I could scarce articulate,--"is it Mr. Winthrop?" "Yes, little one."