I went wandering about the woods, and at three I was again in the housekeeper’s room. She came to me presently, looking rather troubled. “It is very odd,” she began, the moment she entered, “but for the first time, I think, for years, she’s not for her afternoon sleep.” “Does she sleep at night?” I asked. “Like a bairn. But she sleeps a great deal; and the doctor says that’s what keeps her so quiet. She would go raving again, he says, if the sleep did not soothe her poor brain.” “Could you not let me see her when she is asleep to-night?” Again she hesitated, but presently replied:-- “I will, sir; but I trust to you never to mention it.” “Of course I will not.” “Come at ten o’clock, then. You will find the outer door on this side open. Go straight to my room.” With renewed thanks I left her and, once again betaking myself to the woods, wandered about till night, notwithstanding signs of an approaching storm. I thus kept within the boundaries of the demesne, and had no occasion to request re-admittance at any of the gates. As ten struck on the tower-clock, I entered Mrs. Blakesley’s room. She was not there. I sat down. In a few minutes she came. “She is fast asleep,” she said. “Come this way.” I followed, trembling. She led me to the same room Lady Alice used to occupy. The door was a little open. She pushed it gently, and I followed her in. The curtains towards the door were drawn. Mrs. Blakesley took me round to the other side.--There lay the lovely head, so phantom-like for years, coming only in my dreams; filling now, with a real presence, the eyes that had longed for it, as if in them dwelt an appetite of sight. It calmed my heart at once, which had been almost choking me with the violence of its palpitation. “That is not the face of insanity,” I said to myself. “It is clear as the morning light.” As I stood gazing, I made no comparisons between the past and the present, although I was aware of some difference--of some measure of the unknown fronting me; I was filled with the delight of beholding the face I loved--full, as it seemed to me, of mind and womanhood; sleeping--nothing more. I murmured a fervent “Thank God!” and was turning away with a feeling of satisfaction for all the future, and a strange great hope beginning to throb in my heart, when, after a little restless motion of her head on the pillow, her patient lips began to tremble. My soul rushed into my ears. “Mr. Campbell,” she murmured, “I cannot spell; what am I to do to learn?”