Captain Fairfax left the room, and at a venture went over to inquire at the cabinet-maker’s. And he soon returned, accompanied by Mrs. Knight. Zuleime received her visitor without any emotion whatever; smiling gently, and holding out her hand, and afterwards lying and silently and pleasantly watching her as she sat by the bed. And when she arose to leave, she put up her lips for a kiss. Poor Ida pressed those lips very gently, and then quietly left the room: but as soon as she had passed the door, burst into tears. Every day Zuleime’s mind flowed away. Every day she became more infantile in weakness and simplicity. One day she made known a wish—the only one she had ever voluntarily expressed. It was affecting from its utter childishness. “Dear Frank, you and your mother are rich. I want you to bring Ida and her child home to live here, so that she may not have to go on the stage any more.” She reverted to this subject so frequently, repeating this, the only wish she had ever expressed, so often and earnestly, that her husband felt strongly inclined to gratify her desire, strange as it really was. He consulted his mother, and they concluded that it might be done, in a measure. Then they told her that it should be as she wished; that Ida and her child should come and live with them, if she would. Captain Fairfax went again to the cabinet-maker’s, saw the poor actress, and told her that his wife needed a female companion to sit with her a portion of the day, and that she would hear of no one for the post but her old friend, Mrs. Knight, if Mrs. Knight would come and name her own salary. And when he had let slip that last word, he turned away his face with his forehead burning under the astonished, indignant gaze of those proud, dark eyes of Ida’s, as she said— “Captain Fairfax, I receive a ‘salary’ in the regular line of my profession, when I am engaged in it; as Captain Fairfax also receives pay for his military services—but as he would spurn all offers of pecuniary remuneration for attentions to a wounded comrade, so should I decline all compensation for attentions to a sick neighbor; and I am most surprised that you should have made such a proposal to me.” So was Captain Fairfax himself really surprised that he should have been betrayed into such an error, as to forget that the very profession of the poor tragic actress really fostered a morbid pride. Her phrases might have been a little stilted after the manner of the stage, but the sentiments were really true and high, and worthy of all consideration. So Captain Fairfax apologized, as he best could, and arose to take his leave. Then she said— “Do not quite misunderstand me. I am very anxious to do all in my power to serve Mrs. Fairfax, for I love her dearly! I am willing to devote all my time, night and day, to her service, for the affection I bear her. And I can do it now; for since the burning of the theatre I have been disengaged.”