Mrs. Fairfax had been all this time chafing her temples with cologne, while the two maids rubbed her hands and feet. But up to this instant she had given no signs of recovery, or of consciousness. And the old lady shook her head mournfully, and plunged Frank into deeper despair. They persevered in their efforts for half an hour longer, and then she sighed and opened her eyes. Her husband was bending over her. She met his eyes, and smiled faintly in recognition, without astonishment, and without joy—indeed she was too feeble for either—and murmuring, “Dearest Frank,” she sank away again, fainting, they supposed, until her low breathing revealed that she slept the sleep of utter prostration. And how changed was now that countenance. The look of weariness, care and sorrow had vanished, and the sweet, wan face wore the easy, confiding air of infancy; and even in sleep, she must have felt the shelter of protecting love around her, for often with closed eyes she smiled, as in delighted visions! All night they watched beside her bed while she slept. In the morning the doctor arrived. He had been absent all night, by the couch of one who had been severely burned at the theatre, and that accounted for his failure to come before morning; now, however, he stood beside the patient with grave and thoughtful brow. “Doctor, for Heaven’s sake give me some hope of her. Tell me something about her, at least! Is she ill?” “She is very ill,” replied the physician. “I cannot believe it! I will not believe it! See how sweetly she sleeps! how comfortably! how free from suffering!” “Yes—but, my dear Captain Fairfax, there would be more hope if there were more suffering—however, the case may be much more favorable than it appears to me now; I cannot fully judge of it until she wakes.” “Allow me to arouse her, then! Nay, I wish to do it! I have not spoken to her yet! Let me wake her now!” “By no means! It might prove fatal. Indeed, you must be very careful. Her life hangs by a thread. Sleep will do her more good now than anything else. When she awakes naturally, you may send for me at once.” And so saying, the doctor took leave, without even writing a prescription. Soon after he left the house she opened her eyes again, and seeing Frank, smiled faintly, and murmured— “My own—my dearest—dearest husband.” And in an instant her senses seemed swallowed up again in sleep, which lasted half an hour, at the end of which she awoke again, and looked around in uneasiness, and breathed, half aloud,—“My child—my baby—my little Fan—” and then sank away again, as if she were too feeble to retain her hold on consciousness. “What is she talking about, dear mother?” inquired Frank, in the extremity of anxiety, when he heard her words. Mrs. Fairfax shook her head, and said she did not know. But the woman who waited in the chamber came forward, and said that if her mistress would excuse her interfering, _she_ would tell them what the young lady meant.