Most often, although the sensation of floating continued, the sights before her eyes were merely complicated patterns, endless in diversity and colour, which melted one into another like those of a kaleidoscope. It was very interesting to watch them, and she followed their changes eagerly, drifting down the river all the time. There came disquieting interruptions to her enjoyment at last. Voices called to her--not the unknown voices of her visions, but voices that she knew--called to her earnestly, entreatingly, forcing themselves upon her attention when she desired only to watch the moving patterns. She felt a kind of resentment against these voices--a sort of malicious satisfaction in the fact that she could not answer their appeals, for there seemed to be a weight on her lips that kept them from moving. If only the voices would leave her in peace! There they were again, calling: “Lenchen, Lenchen! my little Lenchen! look at me, speak to me!” Before her eyes was a dun expanse flecked by splashes of colour that came and went, and against this background shadowy discs and half-discs appeared vaguely, took definite shape, became flaming and metallic, and vanished slowly away, as she watched them with breathless interest. She could not answer the cry that reached her, for the weight was still upon her lips, but it banished the vision, and in its place she saw a curious patchwork of many shapes and colours and patterns, something like the mosaic which industrious persons construct with small pieces of broken china sunk in cement. This also was interesting, although it had not the fascination of those advancing and receding discs, and she was watching the mosaic brighten and fade and re-group itself in new designs, when another voice broke in upon the dream, and made it vanish in its turn. “Nell! Nell!” the voice cried, in tones of agony, and for the first time Helene felt an impulse to answer. But the weight was still upon her lips, and on the whole she was glad of it. Turning aside, as it were, petulantly from the call, she set herself joyfully to the contemplation of a myriad tiny bunches of pink-tipped daisies, floating in an atmosphere of dark dull green, which appealed to her almost more than all that had gone before. Nothing could be lovelier than this. Would it stay? would the daisy-buds unfold, or would they vanish into something else? Helene never knew, for into the midst of her vision came another sound, clear and distinct, the sound of a sob, before which the vision departed suddenly. She opened her eyes. There seemed to be no one in the room, but the sound of another sob guided her eyes to where Usk was kneeling beside the bed, his face hidden in the coverlid. The sight awoke Helene to pity and concern at once.