Toward this he hastened with the form of Alice. He turned down the cover, and, hastily divesting her of the heavy cloak, laid her in the bed and covered her warmly up. He stooped and looked at her with intense interest, then took her arm and felt her pulse. It was moderately full and quick. He gazed upon her face. The color was still brightening in her cheeks and lips; her eyelids were quivering as if about to fly open; her full, fresh lips were slightly apart, as if about to speak; she was moving gently, breathing softly, murmuring melodiously. He bent his ear to catch that low, musical murmur; low and musical as the faintest breath of the Æolian harp. The words of that strange melody were: “Oh, angels, let me go! I—only I of all the earth love him well enough to be the instrument of Christ for his redemption—I—only I of all the earth have faith in its possibility.” “Wandering, flighty, delirious,” said Dr. Magnus, quietly dropping the wrist he had held, and rising and going toward Elsie. “Elsie, I dare not leave your mother for an instant now. Pick up your cloak, wrap yourself well in it, take the lantern and haste to the gate, where we left the carriage; take my medicine chest from the box, and bring it hither. Haste, Elsie, haste! Every second counts a year of life.” Mechanically as an automaton Elsie had obeyed his every direction. She looked unnatural with her pale face and great, dilated eyes. And she performed her part with the abstracted air and literal and mathematical precision of a sleep-walker. With this strange, absent air she went out, and after an absence of about fifteen minutes returned with the medicine chest. Magnus heard her coming and left his patient for an instant to open the door and relieve her of her burden. But here another subject unexpectedly arrested his attention and claimed his care. As she gave the chest into his hands she stared straight at him—straight through him and past him with such unconscious eyes that he grew alarmed for her. Setting down the medicine chest upon a bench, he took her hands and drew her up to the fire, and, laying his hand upon her shoulder, and looking straight in her eyes, he said cheerfully: “Wake up, Elsie! Rouse yourself, my child! This is very awful, but not unnatural.” “Oh-h-h!” sighed Elsie, dropping into the armchair. “Oh-h-h! I know it is not unnatural, or uncommon, either, for loved ones to die, and hearts to be bereaved and broken; but, dear Magnus, I am afraid I am going crazy; I am afraid to tell you what I wildly imagined just now, what an extravagant fancy I took into my head.” “What was it, then?” “Now, don’t be too much astounded at my folly, dear Magnus, for I have been so grievously tried.” “What was it, then? Quick! I have no time for idle talk.” “Well, then, I fancied—oh-h-h! such a mad, frenzied fancy—that my beloved mother was alive again. Am I not going mad? I thought my dear mother was alive again!”