“No, no, child; she is not. Natural life is coming again. Her mind is taking up the train of thoughts at the place where it was lost. Nothing can be done as yet, but to listen—yes, listen—she speaks again—hear!” “Forgive Elsie—only forgive Elsie, and I will forget that I have been betrayed, and scorned, and trampled under foot. At least I will never, never speak of it,” murmured Alice, in a heart-broken tone; and then her hands flew up, her eyes flew open, and she looked around in the full possession of all her faculties, which was evident from the surprise with which she glanced upon the strange scene. Magnus and Elsie had drawn back, not to shock her with their sudden appearance. Yes, catalepsy, epilepsy, apparent death—whatever the medical faculty in their wisdom might have pronounced the fit to be that had held her life spellbound for two days—was over, quite over, and she raised up in the full possession of all her senses. “Where in the universe am I?” she asked, rising upon her elbow and looking around. “Has he turned me out of doors, really, and has one of the negroes taken me into a quarter during a fainting fit? Let me recollect. What happened after he threw me down? I remember nothing after that. ‘Now, die of rage’ he said, and spurned me from him. Yes, that is the last link in memory’s chain. I must have fainted after that; he must have thrust me out, and one of the poor negro women must have picked me up and brought me to her quarters, and here I have recovered. Oh, I wonder how long I have lain in this swoon?—not long. It was near daylight when I lost recollection. It is not quite daylight yet. Oh, I have not lain here long, perhaps not ten minutes. I wish someone would come. I want to warn them not to speak of this. It must not be talked of on the plantation. It must not get out among the neighbors. And never, never must Elsie hear of it—guess at it! God! God! save Elsie from this knowledge! Let her still respect her father. Let her still be happy in thinking of me in my home—‘home’—my home. Alas! it is not my home any longer! I do not own an interest there—not even a wife’s interest in the homestead which I should have had, even had the estate come by General Garnet, for I have signed even that away—‘all right, title, and interest.’ Yet it is my home, if not my homestead, for it is my husband’s place of permanent residence, and therefore my home. And I must go back to it. I must beg him to let me in. I must, no matter how I may be received. I must, even if his other daughter is there to insult me. I must, to spare Elsie the knowledge of this. Elsie must never know—must never suspect this.” And Alice arose, and, sitting up straight in bed, prepared to throw the cover off and arise, when Elsie sprang forward and threw herself upon the bed, exclaiming, in heart-broken tones: