"This has been a wonderful day for me, Seraphine," I told her when we came to my room, "the most wonderful day in my whole life." "I know, dear," she answered calmly, as if nothing could surprise her either. Then I explained everything that had happened--why I had left America so suddenly, why I had felt that I must never see Christopher again. "But you don't feel that way any more?" she asked me with a look of strange understanding in her deep eyes. "No," said I, "everything is changed now. My fears are gone. I see that I must count upon Christopher to have the same faith and courage that I have in my own heart. Why should I expect to bear the whole burden of our future? He must bear his part of it. The responsibility goes with the love, doesn't it? I saw that this afternoon--it came to me like a flash when the procession passed. Isn't it wonderful? "Dear child, the working of God's love for His children is always wonderful. This is a place of miracles"--she paused as if searching into my soul--"and the greatest miracle is yet to come." I felt the color flooding to my cheeks. "What do you mean?" "I must go back a little, Penelope, and tell you something important. You haven't asked about Captain Herrick." "Is he--is he well?" I stammered. She shook her head ominously. "No. He is far from well. You did not realize, dear, what an effect that letter of yours would have upon him. It was a mortal blow." I tried to speak, but I could not; my bosom rose and fell with quick little gasping breaths, as if I was suffocating. "There was no particular illness," my friend continued, "just a general fading away, a slow discouragement. He had no interest in anything, and about a month ago Doctor Owen told me the poor fellow would not live long unless we could find you." "Oh, if I had only known! If I had dreamed that he would care so--so much," I sobbed. "How--how did you find me?" Seraphine answered with that far-away, mystic look in her eyes: "It was your mother, dear--she told me we must go to Lourdes, she said it quite distinctly, she said we must sail that very week, or it would be too late--and we did sail." I stared at her with widening, frightened eyes. "Seraphine! You don't mean that--that Christopher is--here?" I cried. The clairvoyant bowed her head slowly. "He is here, at the hotel, but he is very ill. He took cold on the ship and--it got worse. He has pneumonia." "Oh!" I breathed. I could feel my lips go white. "The doctor is with him now, and a trained nurse. I left them to search for you. I knew I should find you--somewhere." I rose quickly and caught my companion's arm. "Come! We must go to him." "No! You cannot see him until tomorrow. This is the night of the crisis." "Please!" I begged. "No! You must wait here. I will send you word." Then she left me.