“A splendid angel newly drest Save wings, for heaven!” And when she laid her head on her pillow she fell asleep as sweetly as a young child, her breathing as light, her dreamless unconsciousness as perfect. The morning found her refreshed by her slumber, stronger and more self-possessed than before; and when clad in her ordinary little white batiste gown she looked, as indeed she was bodily, if not mentally, a mere slip of a girl,--a lovely girl, slender as a rod and fair as a lily, radiating in every expression and movement with an altogether extraordinary beauty. After the breakfast hour came Madame Dimitrius, eager, curious, affectionate;--but at first sight of her, stood as though rooted to the floor, and began to tremble so violently that Diana put an arm about her to save her from falling. But, with a white, scared face and repelling hand, the old woman pushed her aside. “Do not touch me, please!” she said, in feeble, quavering tones--“I--I did not expect this! I was prepared for much--but not this!--this is devil’s work! Oh, my son, my son! He is possessed by the powers of evil!--may God deliver him! No, no!”--this, as Diana, with her beautiful smile of uplifted sweetness and tolerance, strove to speak--“Nothing you can say will alter it! It is impossible that such a thing could be done without rebellion against the laws of God! You--you are not Diana May--you are some other creature, not made of flesh and blood!” Diana heard her with a gentle patience. “Very possibly you are right,” she said, quietly. “But whatever I am made of must be some of God’s own material, since there is nothing existent without Him! Why, even if there is a devil, the devil himself cannot exist apart from God!” Madame Dimitrius uttered a pained cry, and then began to sob hysterically. “Oh, do not speak to me, do not speak to me!” she wailed. “My son, my son! My Féodor! His soul is the prey of some evil spirit--and it seems to me as if you are that spirit’s form and voice! You are beautiful--but not with merely a woman’s beauty!--his science has called some strange power to him--_you_ are that power!--you will be his doom!” She wrung her hands nervously, and moaning, “Let me go!--let me go!” turned to leave the room. Diana stood apart, making no effort to detain her. A look of wondering compassion filled her lovely eyes. “Poor woman!” she breathed, softly. “Poor weak, worn soul!” Then suddenly she spoke aloud in clear, sweet, decisive tones.