It was bright day when he again opened his eyes. Perhaps he had been strengthened by his peaceful slumber, or, perhaps, the clear soft light of the spring morning was not as conducive of illusions as the mingled light of lamp and fireplace had been. Or, perhaps, the change in the person of his nurse had something to do with it. At all events, he found nothing at all angelic in the tall, slatternly form of Mrs. Higgins, and accepted his drink and medicine from her with a peevish expression of discontent. “Where am I?” he inquired feebly. “Bright Farm,” answered his nurse concisely. After waiting long enough for this bit of news to sift through his system, he inquired, not unreasonably, where the Bright Farm was; but to this question, though somewhat impatiently repeated, he received no answer. Mrs. Higgins was not really ill-natured; unsympathetic, perhaps, and somewhat taciturn, but fully convinced of the dignity of her position as nurse; so when she informed him that “he wuz thar on ther bed,” and that he was to “shet his head until he got better,” she considered that she had fully covered the subject, and declined all further offers of conversation; and Doctor Conway only arrived in time to prevent his patient’s worrying himself into a raging fever. Doctor Conway had looked on this case as an excellent bit of practice. Not that the good doctor had any doubt as to his fee, for he had none, being perfectly convinced in his own mind that there was not the remotest probability of his ever receiving any. But he had devoted himself assiduously to his patient, in the hope, perhaps, that he might the sooner get rid of him. For Conway was but mortal, and the thought of that handsome invalid lying there, monopolizing Norine’s time and attention, was not altogether conducive to the doctor’s peace of mind. The patient was tossing uneasily on the bed when Conway bent over him. There was an instinctive dislike between them, that the doctor found difficult to conceal, and that his patient did not try to. “Where am I?” he demanded at once. “At Bright Farm, the residence of Mr. James Bright,” replied the doctor. “She told me that,” said the sick man impatiently. “How far am I from Altoona?” “About twenty-five miles,” replied Conway, astonished. “Did you come from Altoona?” he inquired in his turn. “No,” said the other; “I was going there.” “Where did you start from?” “I started from near Ebensburg to cross the mountain,” shortly. “What is the nearest town?” Conway gave him the required information. “How soon can I go there?” “Very soon, if you progress as rapidly as you have recently,” replied the doctor, inwardly determined to assist that progress by every means in his power. “What is your name?” he inquired. “Percival--Clinton Percival,” responded the sick man weakly. “How long have I been here?”