“Then you also agree with me, as do many others here at the asylum. It is indeed hard for any one to look at that lovely, pure-faced girl and credit her guilty. Eva,” she called softly to the young girl, who sat motionless at a window, paying no attention to them. The big dark eyes came back from their contemplation of the dreary January landscape with a vacant stare. “Eva, this is a new doctor, dear, who is going to help us cure you, so that you will laugh and be happy again. Shake hands, dear, with Doctor Rupert.” The sombre eyes did not light with intelligence, and the tiny white hands remained folded on her lap, until Doctor Rupert himself stepped forward and took one of the chilly little hands in his, pressing it warmly, while he trembled with emotion. He had seen her grow up from lovely babyhood, but he had never touched her little hand before, never met her eyes save with the black, cold stare they wore now, but once, and that one thrilling moment rushed over him instantly. That night, when she believed that he was dying, her pity had conquered her pride and anger, and she had knelt by his side and pressed her soft lips to his cold brow. “Good-by, good-by! If you had lived I would have loved you!” she had murmured so sweetly that he could never forget. His heart shook with the memory of her sweet words, and he wondered if she had meant them--proud little Eva, who had always ignored him, flashing past when he met her out riding on Firefly with a proudly poised head and curling lips. She would never even look at him--never. She hated him so because he was a Ludington. It was only out of hysterical pity she had spoken such tender words. If she knew that he was living still, if she could recognize him now, she would be as cold and scornful as of yore. He held the small hand as long as he dared, almost crushing it in his clasp, as he longed to crush the slight form against his heart and claim the love she had promised him if he lived. “We must be friends, little Eva,” he said to her huskily, with a yearning smile in his eyes; but she made no reply, only looked at him fixedly and wistfully, and broke into her haunting refrain: “Fair Diantha loved a lover, Madly, madly, madly----” “We will go on,” Doctor Bertrand said gently, drawing him away, and adding kindly: “I see you have fallen under her spell like all the rest of us.” “Who could help it, poor girl?” he answered abstractedly, moving on by her side and continuing: “Have you tried to rouse her interest in anything? I should fancy she would like books and flowers, like any young girl. There is a conservatory here, I believe?” “Yes, and little Eva shall have some of the sweetest flowers to-morrow. I am sorry I did not think of that before,” answered the bright young woman cordially. “And I will bring her a book. Of course she would like poetry. Every young girl does, naturally. What a blessing if we could restore her to reason again!” he cried.