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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.'