As fate would have it, Fred was right. I felt very ill. I believe I _resisted_ a fever, for I have a sensation of struggle connected with that sickness. But I cannot separate the pictures of my distempered fancy from the actualities of the time. Leonora took devoted care of me. Night after night Fred sat by me, and they relieved each other. Like one bound in an enchantment, I lay unable to prevent their mutual confidence, and the return of her young lover's adoring regard. He sat beside her as the fire burned low; his blonde hair touched her dusky cheek as he bent over her. 'Leo, darling, I wish I was sick, like mamma.' 'Hush!' said she. 'Then you would soothe me, and part my hair with your soft fingers, that refuse to touch mine now. You would be sorry for me, and give me a little caressing, and I should be so happy I would not get well.' 'Don't talk so, Fred. You used to be an even-tempered, comfortable kind of young man to know. But now you are really teasing.' 'Do I really annoy you?' 'Very much.' 'And you don't believe in me. Sometimes a dumb kind of philosophy possesses me, and I say to myself, let her think of me as she will. I cannot be frank, and must take the consequences. Then again----' Here she rose, and he put both arms around her. Audacious boy! 'Fred!' was uttered in a stifled voice. 'Promise me to send off Christopher,' ejaculated the young man. The corners of the room seemed to stretch away indefinitely. A heavy perfume suffocated me. I groaned. In another moment Leonora was beside me, and the fresh air was blowing in from a window my son had opened.