The opiate, if opiate it was, that Doctor Eaton gave Miss Axtell, quickly worked its spell; for after he had gone, she scarcely noticed me; she only moaned a little, and turned her head upon the pillow, as if to ease the pain that made her face so flushed. The room was darkened; the fire upon the hearth was almost out. It didn't seem the same room as that in which I had heard my song so recently. I had nothing to do but to sit and watch,--a sad, nerve-aching woman-work, at the best. In my pocket I had put the bit of woman's wear that I had taken from the iron bar in my tower. I longed to open the closet-door, and compare it with the dress that I had seen hanging there. No opportunity came. Miss Axtell was very drowsy, if not asleep. For full three hours not a varying occurred. Where had every one gone? Was I forgotten, buried in with this sick lady out of the world? Not quite; for I heard the vitalizing charm of a footstep, followed, by the gentlest of knocks, which I rejoicingly answered. It was the brother, come to look at his sister. He walked quietly in, stood several moments looking at her face, as she lay with half the repose of sleep over it, then came to me and said,-- "She looks better." "I am glad you think so," I replied; "she seems very ill to me. She called me Mary, when I first came in; since then she hasn't noticed me." "She called you Mary?" he said. "Are you Mary?" "My name is Anna," I answered. "Then you are not Mary?" "Of course not; I am not two." After a little while of silence, he said,-- "My mother's funeral will be this afternoon." "Is there anything that I can do for you before the time?" "Yes, if you will." "I am ready." "Wait here a little," he said, and went down. Katie came up, her young rosy face delightful to behold in the half-way gloom that filled the place. "Mr. Abraham is waiting to see you in the library," she said. "I'll stay till you come up." In my short journey down, I marvelled much concerning what he might want. As I entered the room, I saw no visible thing for hands to do. Now, if it were but a hat to fold the winding badge of sorrow about, or a pair of gloves to mend; but no,--he, this strange man, a sort of barbaric gentleman, looked down at me as I went in. "The doctor was right; somebody has taken the face down," I thought, as my glance went up the wall. "What is there for me to do?" I asked; for Mr. Axtell seemed to have forgotten that he had intimated the possibility of such an event. "Simply to look upon the face of my mother ere it goes forever away." "Do you wish it?" "Very much." "I would rather not." "As you will"; and he turned away proudly, with that high style of curling pride that has a touch of soul in it.