Again, since the death of her child a terrible sense of utter loneliness had fallen upon her, and now that she saw her mistaken judgment of Guy's character all her being yearned for his love, and this woman, who had only respected and admired him when he was well and strong, now that he was prostrate and weak, passionately loved him with all the intensity of her nature. The coldness of her nature had departed, the frozen heart had melted, and often, overcome with terror and dread, she flung herself on her knees beside the bed, praying to God to spare her the husband she had never understood nor loved till now. She never spoke to Eustace about Mrs. Veilsturm--all she knew or cared to know was that this obstacle that had stood between herself and her husband had been removed, and that the true feelings of that husband had been revealed to her by the hand of God. During all this time Eustace acted the part of a brother, and never by word or deed betrayed the true state of his feelings. Heaven alone knew how he suffered in maintaining a cold, patient demeanour towards the woman he loved, and his life, from the time of her arrival till the hour he left San Remo, was one long martyrdom. Often she wondered at his stoical calmness and apparent forgetfulness of the words he had spoken to her at Errington Hall, but neither of them made any reference to the past, and she thought that he was now cured of his passion. Cured! Eustace laughed aloud to himself as he divined her thoughts and contentment that it should be so, and he counted the hours feverishly until such time as he could leave her with a convalescent husband and depart from her presence, where he had to hide his real feelings under a mask of cynical indifference. Owing to the unintermitting care of Dr. Storge, the careful nursing of his wife, and the watchful tenderness of Gartney, the man who had been sick unto death slowly recovered. The long nights of agony and delirium were succeeded by hours of peaceful slumber, the disordered brain righted itself slowly, and the vacant stare of the eyes and babble of the tongue were succeeded by the light of sanity and the words of sense. He was weak, it is true--very weak--but the first moment of joy she had known since the death of her child came to Alizon when one morning, while kneeling beside his bed, he called her faintly by her name. "Alizon." "Yes, dear!--your wife." His wife!--was this his cold, stately wife who knelt so fondly beside him? Were those eyes--shining with love, wet with tears--the cold blue eyes that had so often frozen all demonstrations of affection? Was that face, full of joyful relief and emotion, the marble countenance that had never smiled lovingly on him since he had first beheld it? No!--it could not be Alizon--it was some deceptive vision of the brain, painting what might have been and yet---- She saw his state of bewilderment, and, bending over, kissed him tenderly.