"She has taken off the wreath," I whispered. "No, no; it is there on her forehead. Who gave it to her?" "She has thrown it aside," I protested; "she would not wear it a moment after she knew it pained you. It is gone now." He looked earnestly at the place where he thought Jessie stood, and fell back on his pillows with a sigh of satisfaction. "Kind Jessie," he said, "kind Jessie!" But that quiet only lasted for a few moments. He grew more restless than before; and I saw old Mrs. Bosworth looking at me still, as if she had fully made up her mind that I could compose him, and nothing less than that desirable effect would satisfy her. Really, with those old-world eyes fastened upon me, I could not avoid exerting all my powers, although in my heart I fairly wished the fidgety little mother safe in her own room. CHAPTER XXVII. THE FIRST SOUND SLEEP. I sat down by the young man's bed; I talked to him in a low voice--a great deal of nonsense, I dare say; I was not thinking how it might sound, but was only anxious to soothe him; and while I talked I smoothed his hair and passed my hand slowly across his forehead, after a fashion which I had acquired in my attendance upon Mrs. Lee, during her numerous illnesses. I cannot pretend to account for it, but from my earliest girlhood I always had a faculty for taking care of sick people, and of soothing them when no other person could. My art did not fail that time. Bosworth's voice grew lower and lower; his hands crossed themselves upon the counterpane; his eyes closed, and very soon his measured breathing proved that he was quietly asleep. When I looked up, that stately old duchess of a grandmother was regarding me with such a blessing in her eyes, that I felt the dew steal into mine; while the younger lady, subdued out of her fidgetiness, appeared almost tranquil, and was quite silent. Nobody stirred or spoke. There we sat and watched the sick man as he slept--that quiet sleep which the physician had pronounced so necessary for him, and which his art had failed to procure. It is not often that I feel thoroughly satisfied with Martha Hyde, but I confess that just then I did; not that it proceeded from a sense of self-importance, or anything of that sort, but it is seldom that a quiet person like me has an opportunity of doing good to anybody, and when the occasion does arrive, it is more pleasant than I can at all describe. Bosworth must have slept nearly an hour; the instant he opened his eyes, I saw that the fever had abated a little. He smiled faintly at his mother and the old lady; then his glance fell upon me. Through the feverish flush still on his face there appeared a glow of thankfulness and pleasure, which was beautiful to behold. "Is that you, Miss Hyde?" he asked. "Yes," I said; "I have been sitting here for some time. You have had a nice sleep; to-morrow you will be better." "Thank you; I hope so."