Acting on this clever diagnosis, his treatment of the case was so correct that within three days the light of reason returned to Jessie’s eyes. It was a fact that the fall on the pavement and striking her head had more seriously injured Jessie than the drug she had taken, the latter having only induced a long, deep sleep, very like its “twin brother death.” Leon Dalrymple watched by her bedside with passionate devotion, feeling that he had at last something to live for in this beautiful daughter restored to him as from the dead. While she still lay ill without having recognized any one around her, he provided the Widow Doyle with a full purse and sent her out to buy a fine outfit. “We are going away on a journey, my daughter and I,” he said. “She must have a large trunkful of good clothing suitable to a young lady of moderate fortune--nothing gaudy or cheap, but of fine material, and of the best make.” Mrs. Doyle was a woman of excellent taste, and she fitted Jessie out well with clothing of the best style, so that when she was well enough to sit up she could while away the hours of convalescence by admiring her pretty, new things. The day came when she opened wide her beautiful eyes with the light of reason shining in them, and saw sitting by the bed a handsome, fair-haired man, who had about him a subtle fascination that instantly drew her heart. “Who are you?” she whispered faintly. He turned and took her hand. “Have you never heard of your absent father, dear little Jessie?” “Yes. Are you----” “Yes, I am your father, dearest. Will you kiss me?” She held up her sweet face passively and gave him a child’s dutiful kiss, murmuring plaintively: “And my mother?” A dark frown gloomed his brow as he retorted angrily: “We will never speak of her, Jessie. She is as one dead to us both.” CHAPTER XVII. DALRYMPLE’S SECRET. Jessie’s large, soft, dark eyes turned on her father’s face with a look that shook his soul, they were so like other eyes he had once loved. She cried pleadingly: “No, no, for I have had such a sweet dream of my mother it thrills my heart yet. Let me tell it to you, papa!” The dark eyes and the pleading voice pierced his heart like a knife. Why had God given her this subtle likeness to her mother that would always be like a thorn in his heart? He could not answer for his tumultuous thoughts, and she continued thrillingly: