May Forestfield had a very sharp attack; indeed, for more than a fortnight she lay between life and death. Dr. Chenoweth's earliest and latest visits were paid to her, and two professional nurses, hospital sisters--skilled and attentive women who have succeeded to the Gamp and Prig creatures--relieved each other in daily and nightly watch at her bedside. When, however, one morning in the beginning of the third week of her illness, May opened her weary eyes, and for the first time was able to recognise things around her, her glance fell, not upon any hired attendant, but upon the upturned face of a pretty girl; a delicate, pensive face surrounded with shining fair hair, a face which, though half strange to her, seemed to bring back pleasantly familiar recollections of long ago. The girl's attention was at once attracted by the movement of the patient, and she rose from her seat and placed herself quietly by the bedside. 'It is Eleanor,' murmured May, raising her hand to shade her eyes; 'it must be Eleanor, and yet how can she be here? My head throbs, and I feel as though I were yet in a dream. Speak to me and say whether you are really there.' 'It is Eleanor,' said the girl, bending over the bed and smoothing the rumpled pillow; 'it is Eleanor, and you are in no dream, dear Lady Forestfield; but I must implore you not to talk now. Dr. Chenoweth has left the strictest orders that you should have no excitement, and, for your own sake, I must see that he is obeyed.' May made no resistance; the mere effort of speech had completely exhausted her; and she sank back into a slumber, during which, as her gentle nurse noted with pleasure, her breathing was regular and her whole manner devoid of the feverish restlessness which had characterised her slumbers during her illness. When, after a couple of hours' peaceful repose, May again opened her eyes, she recognised her companion in an instant, and in a clearer and firmer voice spoke to her at once. 'I know you now, Eleanor,' she said, 'but even now I cannot account for your presence here. I know perfectly well I am at Mrs. Wilson's lodgings in Podbury-street, but that knowledge does not account for your presence. My head is heavy and my limbs horribly weak and languid. I feel as though I had gone through an illness.' 'You have gone through a very severe illness, dear Lady Forestfield,' said the girl, fanning the patient's face with a huge palm-leaf, on which she had previously sprinkled some drops of scent, 'and even now, though I am delighted to see you recognise me, and to hear your own well-remembered voice once again, I must warn you that you are only in the very earliest stage of convalescence. It will be brave news for Dr. Chenoweth when he comes to-night, for though he anticipated your recovery, he did not think it would commence so soon.' 'Have I, then, been so very ill?' asked May.