Phil must have felt the change, for he breathed more naturally and there came a faint color to his lips, and at last, just as a ray of sunlight stole into the room and danced upon the wall above his head, he woke to perfect consciousness, and, stretching his hand toward Christine said: “You have saved my life and I thank you; but for you I should have died when the dreadful sickness came. How long have I been here, and where is Queenie? I dreamed she was here.” As the tones of the voice she had never expected to hear again fell upon her ear Queenie could no longer restrain herself, but springing up, she bent over Phil and said: “I am here—Phil, _my love, my darling_, and nothing shall part us again. I am _not_ your cousin, and I can love you now.” She was kneeling beside him, with one arm under his neck, while with the other hand she caressed his face, and kissing him passionately continued: “O, Phil, I thought you were dead, and it broke my heart, for I did love you all the time, and I found it out when it was too late and you were gone, and I mourned for you so much, and all the brightness went out from my life; but it will come back again with you, my darling! my darling!” Her tears were falling like rain upon his face, and her voice was choked with sobs, as she made this avowal of her love, without a shadow of shame or feeling that she was doing anything unmaidenly. Phil was _hers_. Nothing could change that, or his love for her. She was as sure of him as she was that she breathed, and she had no hesitancy in pouring out the full measure of her affection for him. Both Christine and Pierre had stolen from the room, leaving the lovers alone in that first blissful moment of their reunion. For a time Phil lay perfectly still and took her caresses and kisses in silence. Then summoning all his strength, he wound his arms around the little girl, and hugging her close to him whispered: “Heaven can scarcely be better than this. Oh, Queenie! my darling! my pet!” He was very weak, and Queenie saw it, and drawing herself from him said: “You must not talk any more now. You must get well, and then I can hear it all—where you have been and why you are not dead. Oh, Phil, it was so horrible—everything which has happened to me since you went away. I am nobody—_nobody_, Phil; no name, no right to be born, and I was once so proud. Did they tell you, Phil? Do you know _who_ I am?” “Yes, they told me; I know, poor little Queenie,” Phil replied, with a tighter clasp of the hand which lay in his. She did not ask him if it would make any difference with his love. She knew it would not. She had always felt sure of Phil; he was hers for ever, and the old joy began to come back, and the old light sparkled in her eyes, which shone like stars as she went on: