"Yes, Mrs. Yocomb, good nursing and nourishment are all that he now requires," were the reassuring words that greeted my waking later in the evening. I opened my eyes, and found that a physician was feeling my pulse.

I turned feebly toward my kind hostess, and smilingly whispered:

"There's no fear of my wanting these where you are, Mrs. Yocomb; but don't let me make trouble. I fear I've made too much already."

"The only way thee can make trouble, Richard, is to worry about making trouble. The more we can do for thee the better we shall be pleased. All thee's got to do is to get well and take thy time about it."

"That's just like you. How long have I been ill?"

"That's none of thy business at present. One thing at a time. The doctor has put thee in my hands, and I'm going to make thee mind."

"I've heard that men were perfect bears when getting well," I said.

"Thee can be a bear if thee feels like it, but not another word to-night—not another syllable; am I not right, doctor?"

"Yes, I prescribe absolute quiet of mind and body; that and good living will bring you around in time. You've had a narrow graze of it, but if you will mind Mrs. Yocomb you will yet die of old age. Good-night."

My nurse gave me what she thought I needed, and darkened the room. But it was not so dark but that I saw a beautiful face in the doorway.

"Miss Warren," I exclaimed.

"It was Adah," said Mrs. Yocomb quietly; "she's been very anxious about thee."

"You are all so kind. Please thank her for me," I replied eagerly. "Mother, may I speak to Richard Morton?" asked a timid voice from the obscurity of the hallway.

"Not to-night, Adah—to-morrow." "Forgive me if I disobey you this once," I interrupted hastily. "Yes, Miss Adah, I want to thank you."

She came instantly to my side, and I held out my hand to her. I wondered why hers throbbed and trembled so strangely.

"It's I who should thank thee: I can never thank thee enough. Oh, I feared I might—I might never have a chance."

"There, Adah, thee mustn't say another word; Richard's too weak yet."

Her hand closed tightly over mine. "Good-by," she breathed softly, and vanished.

Mrs. Yocomb sat down with her knitting by a distant and shaded lamp.

Too weak to think, or to realize aught except that I was surrounded by an atmosphere of kindness and sympathy, I was well content to lie still and watch, through the open window, the dark foliage wave to and fro, and the leaves grow distinct in the light of the rising moon, which, though hidden, I knew must be above the eastern mountains. I had the vague impression that very much had happened, but I would not think; not for the world would I break the spell of deep quietude that enthralled every sense of my body and every faculty of my mind.

"Mrs. Yocomb," I said at last, "it must be you who creates this atmosphere of perfect peace and restfulness. The past is forgotten, the future a blank, and I see only your serene face. A subdued light seems to come from it, as from the shaded lamp."

"Thee is weak and fanciful, Richard. The doctor said thee must be quiet."

"I wish it were possible to obey the doctor forever, and that this exquisite rest and oblivion could last, I am like a ship becalmed on a summer sea in a summer night. Mind and body are both motionless."

"Sleep, Richard Morton, and when rested and well, may gales from heaven spring up and carry thee homeward. Fear not even rough winds, if they bear thee toward the only true home. Now thy only duty is to rest."

"You are not going to sit up to-night, Mrs. Yocomb."

She put her finger on her lips.

"Hush!" she said.

"Oh, delicious tyranny!" I murmured. "The ideal government is that of an absolute and friendly power."

I had a vague consciousness of being wakened from time to time, and of taking something from Mrs. Yocomb's hand, and then sinking back into an enthrallment of blessed and refreshing slumber. With every respiration life and health flowed back.

At last, as after my first long sleep in the country, I seemed to hear exquisite strains of music that swelled into richer harmony until what seemed a burst of song awoke me. Opening my eyes, I looked intently through the open, window and gladly welcomed the early day. The air was fresh, and I felt its exhilarating quality. The drooping branches of the elm swayed to and fro, and the mountains beyond were bathed in light. I speedily realized that it was the song of innumerable birds that had supplied the music of my waking dream.

For a few moments I gazed through the window, with the same perfect content with which I had watched the foliage grow distinct in the moonlight the previous evening, and then I looked around the room.

I started slightly as I encountered the deep blue eyes of Adah Yocomb fixed on me with an intent, eager wistfulness. "Can I do anything for thee, Richard Morton?" she asked, rising from her chair near the door. "Mother asked me to stay with thee awhile, and to let her know if thee woke and wanted anything."

"With you here this bright morning, how could I want anything more?" I asked, with a smile, for her young, beautiful face comported so well with the early morning of the summer day as to greatly please both my eye and fancy. The color of the early morning grew richer in her face as she replied:

"I'm glad thee doesn't want me to go away, but I must go and have thy breakfast brought up."

"No, stay; tell me all that's happened. I seem to have forgotten everything so strangely! I feel as if I had known you all a long time, and yet that can't be, for only the other day I was at my office in New York."

"Mother says thee's too weak to talk yet, and that I must not answer questions. She says thee knows thee's been sick and thee knows thee's getting well, and that must do till thee's much stronger."

"Oh, I feel ever so much stronger. Sleep and the good things your mother has given me have made a new man of me."

"Mother says thee has never been sick, and that thee doesn't know how to take care of thyself, and that thee'll use thy strength right up if we don't take good care of thee."

"And are you going to take care of me?"

"Yes, if thee pleases. I'll help mother."

"I should be hard to please were I not glad. I shall have so nice a time getting well that I shall be tempted to play sick."

"I'll—I'll wait on thee as long as thee'll let me, for no one owes thee more than I do."

"What in the world do you owe me?" I asked, much perplexed. "If you are going to help me to get well, and will come to my room daily with a face like this summer morning, I shall owe you more than I can ever repay."

"My face would have been black enough but for thee; but I'm glad thee thinks I look well. They are all saying I look pale and am growing thin, but if thee doesn't think so I don't care," and she seemed aglow with pleasure.

"It would make a sick man well to look at you," I said, smiling. "Please come and sit by me and help me to get my confused brain straight once more. I have the strangest sense of not knowing what I ought to know well. You and your kind father and mother brought me home from meeting. Your mother said I might stay here and rest. Miss Warren was here—she was singing in the parlor. Where is Miss Warren?"

"She has gone out for a walk," said the girl a little coldly.

Her manner perplexed me, and, together with my thought of Miss Warren, there came a vague sense of trouble—of something wrong. I tried to raise my hand to my brow, as if to clear away the mist that obscured my mind, and my hand was like lead, it was so heavy.

"A plague on my memory!" I exclaimed. "We were in the parlor, and Miss Warren was singing. Your mother spoke—would that I might hear her again!—it's all tolerably clear up to that time, and then everything is confused."

"Adah, how's this?" said Mrs. Yocomb reproachfully. "Thee was not to let Richard Morton talk."

"I only am to blame, Mrs. Yocomb: I would talk. I'm trying to get the past straightened out; I know that something happened the other evening when you spoke so beautifully to us, but my memory comes up to that point as to an abyss, and I can't bridge it over."

"Richard Morton, doesn't thee believe that I'm thy friend?"

"My mind would indeed be a total blank if I doubted that."

"Well, then, do what I ask thee: don't question, don't think. Isn't it sufficient to know that thee has been ill, and that thy life depends on quiet? Thee can scarcely lift thy hand to thy head; thy words are slow and feeble. Can't thee realize that it is thy sacred duty to rest and grow strong before taking up the cares and burdens that life brings to us all? Thee looks weak and exhausted."

"I am indeed weak enough, but I felt almost well when I awoke."

"Adah, I fear I can't trust thee as a nurse," her mother began gravely.

"Please don't blame her; it was wholly my fault," I whispered. "I'll be very good now, and do just what you bid me."

"Well, then, thee must take what I have prepared, and thy medicine, and sleep again."

"Good-by, Adah," I said, smiling. "Don't look so concerned; you haven't done me a bit of harm. Your face was as bright and welcome as the sunshine."

"If it hadn't been for thee—" she began.

Mrs. Yocomb raised a warning finger, and the girl stole away.

"Can—can I not see Miss Warren this morning?" I asked hesitatingly.

"Thee must sleep first."

The medicine she gave evidently contained a sedative, or else sleep was the remedy that Nature instinctively grasped, for it gave back part of the strength that I had lost.

When I awoke again I felt wonderfully the better for a long rest that had not been broken, but made more beneficial from the fact that I was slightly roused from time to time to take stimulants and nourishment. The heat and glare of the summer day had passed. This I could perceive even through the half-closed window-blinds. At first I thought myself alone, but soon saw that Reuben was seated in the furthest corner, quietly carving on some woodwork that interested his boyish fancy. His round, fresh face was like a tonic.

"Well, old fellow," I laughed, "so you are playing nurse?"

"Is thee awake for good, Richard Morton?" he asked, springing up.

"I hope so."

"'Cause mother said that as soon as thee really waked up I must call her."

"Oh, wait a moment, and tell me all the news."

"Mother said I mustn't tell thee anything but to get well."

"I'm never going to get well."

"What!" exclaimed the boy, in consternation.

"Your mother and Miss Adah take such good care of me that I am going to play sick the rest of my life," I explained, laughing. "How is Dapple?"

"Oh, thee's only joking, then. Well, all I ask of thee is to get well just enough to drive Dapple around with me. He'll put life into thee—never fear. When I get hold of the reins he fairly makes my hands tingle. But there, mother said I shouldn't let thee talk, but tell her right away," and he started for the door.

"How is Miss Warren? Is she never coming to see me?"

"Emily Warren's been dreadfully anxious about thee. I never saw any one change so. But to-day she has been like a lark. She went with me to the village this morning, and she had almost as much spirit and life as Dapple. She's a jolly good girl. I like her. We're all so glad thee's getting well we don't know what to do. Father said he felt like jumping over a five-bar fence. Only Adah acts kind of queer and glum."

"I think I hear talking," said Mrs. Yocomb, entering.

"Dear Mrs. Yocomb," I laughed, "you are the most amiable and beneficent dragon that ever watched over a captive."

"Thee wants watching. The moment my back's turned thee's into mischief, and the young people are just as bad. Reuben, I might better have left Zillah here."

"Do let her come," I exclaimed; "she'll do more good than medicine."

"Well, she shall bring thee up thy chicken broth; that will please her wonderfully. Go away, Reuben, and tell Zillah to bring the broth—not another word. Does thee feel better, Richard?"

"Oh, I am almost well. I'm ashamed to own how hungry I am."

"That's a good sign—a very good sign."

"Mrs. Yocomb, how did I become so ill? I'm haunted by the oddest sense of not remembering something that happened after you spoke to us the other evening."

"There's nothing strange in people's being sick—thee knows that. Then thee had been overworking so long that thee had to pay the penalty."

"Yes, I remember that. Thank Heaven I drifted into this quiet harbor before the storm came. I should have died in New York."

"Well, thee knows where to come now when thee's going to have another bad turn. I hope, however, that thee'll be too good a man to overwork so again. Now thee's talked enough."

"Can I not see Mr. Yocomb, and—and—Miss Warren this evening?"

"No, not till to-morrow. Father's been waiting till I said he could come; but he's so hearty-like that I won't trust him till thee's stronger."

"Is—is Miss Warren so hearty-like also? It seems to me her laugh would put life into a mummy."

"Well, thee isn't a mummy, so she can't come till to-morrow."

She had been smoothing my pillow and bathing my face with cologne, thus creating a general sense of comfort and refreshment. Now she lifted my head on her strong, plump arm, and brushed my hair. Tears came into my eyes as I said brokenly:

"I can remember my mother doing this for me when I was ill once and a little fellow. I've taken care of myself ever since. You can have no idea how grateful your manner is to one who has no one to care for him specially."

"Thee'll always have some one to care for thee now; but thee mustn't say anything more;" and I saw strong sympathy in her moist eyes.

"Yes," I breathed softly, "I should have died in New York."

"And thee said an imp from the printing-house could take care of thee," she replied, with a low laugh.

"Did I say that? I must have been out of my head."

"Thee'll see that all was ordered for the best, and be content when thee gets strong. People are often better every way after a good fit of sickness. I believe the Good Physician will give His healing touch to thy soul as well as thy body. Ah, here is Zillah. Come in, little girl. Richard wishes to see thee."

Bearing a bowl in both hands, she entered hesitatingly.

"Why, Zillah, you waiting on me, too! It's all like a fairy tale, and I'm transformed into a great prince, and am waited on right royally. I'm going to drink that broth to your health, as if you were a great lady. It will do me more good than all the drugs of all the doctors, just because you are such a good little fairy, and have bewitched it."

The child dimpled all over with pleasure as she came and stood by my side.

"Oh, I'm so glad thee's getting well!" she cried. "Thee talks queer, but not so queer as thee did before. Thee—"

A warning gesture from her mother checked her, and she looked a little frightened.

"That will do, Zillah. After Richard has taken this I'm not going to let him talk for a long time."

"Do you want to make me all well, Zillah?" I asked, smiling into her troubled and sympathetic face.

She nodded eagerly and most emphatically.

"Then climb on a chair and give me a kiss."

After a quick, questioning look at her mother, she complied, laughing.

"Ah, that puts life into me," I said. "You can tell them all that you did me more good than the doctor. I'll go with you to see the robins soon."

"I've got something else for thee downstairs," she whispered, "something that Emily Warren gathered for thee," and she was gone in a flash.

A moment later she stood in the doorway, announced in advance by the perfume of an exquisite cluster of rosebuds arranged in a dainty vase entwined and half hidden with myrtle.

"Put the vase on the table by Richard, and then thee mustn't come any more."

"Thee surely are from the Garden of Eden," I exclaimed. "These and your kiss, Zillah, will make me well. Tell Miss Warren that I am going to thank her myself. Good-by now," and she flitted out of the room, bright with the unalloyed happiness of a child.

"Dear me," said Mrs. Yocomb, "thee must indeed get strong fast, for I do have such a time keeping the young people out of thy room. Reuben asks a dozen times a day if he can see thee, and father's nearly as bad. No more shall see thee to-day, I promise thee. Now thee must rest till to-morrow."

I was well content, for the roses brought a presence very near. In their fragrance, their beauty, their dewy freshness, their superiority to other flowers, they seemed the emblem of the maiden who had made harmony in the garden when Nature was at her best. The scene, as we had stood there together, grew so vivid that I saw her again almost in reality, her face glowing with the undisguised, irrepressible pleasure that had been caused by my unexpected tribute to the absolute truthfulness of her character. Again I heard her piquant laugh; then her sweet, vibratory voice as she sang hymns that awakened other than religious emotions, I fear. By an odd freak of fancy the flowers seemed an embodied strain from Chopin's nocturne that she had played, and the different shades of color the rising and falling of the melody.

"What do they mean?" I murmured to myself. "At any rate I see no York and Lancaster buds among them."

"Is thee so very fond of roses that thee gazes so long and intently at them?" Mrs. Yocomb quietly asked.

I started, and I had still sufficient blood to crimson my pallid face.

Turning away I said, "They recalled a scene in the garden where they grew. It seemed to me that Miss Warren had grown there too, she was so like them; and that this impression should have been made by a girl bred in the city struck me as rather strange."

"Thy impression was correct—she's genuine," Mrs. Yocomb replied gravely, and her eyes rested on me in a questioning and sympathetic way that I understood better as I thought it over afterward.

"Yes," I said, "she made just that impression on me from the first. We met as strangers, and in a few hours, without the slightest effort on her part, she won my absolute trust. This at first greatly surprised me, for I regret to say that my calling has made me distrustful. I soon learned, however, that this was just the impression that she should make on any one capable of understanding her."

A deep sigh was my companion's only answer.

"Mrs. Yocomb," I continued, earnestly, "was I taken ill while you were speaking? I have a vague, tormenting impression that something occurred which I cannot recall. The last that I can remember was your speaking to us; and then—and then—wasn't there a storm?"

"There may have been. We've had several showers of late. Thee had been overdoing, Richard, and thee felt the effects of the fever in thy system before thee or any of us knew what was the matter. Thy mind soon wandered; but thee was never violent; thee made us no trouble—only our anxiety. Now I hope I've satisfied thee."

"How wondrously kind you've all been to such a stranger! But Miss Adah made reference to something that I can't understand."

Mrs. Yocomb looked perplexed and annoyed. "I'll ask Adah," she said, gravely. "It's time thee took this medicine and slept."

The draught she gave me was more quieting than her words had been, for I remembered nothing more distinctly until I awoke in the brightness of another day.