thoughtfully upon his face as he slept unconscious of her presence, she
saw the white lips move and heard the murmur of the low, musical voice.
Her fair head was bent to catch the words--they were the words of
delirium or of dreams, but they brought a blush to her cheek. And yet
she bent her head still lower and listened, until her forehead rested on
the pillow, and when she looked up again with a sigh, and fixed her eyes
mechanically on the page before her, there was a trace of tears upon the
drooping lashes.

He awoke from a refreshing slumber and it seemed that the fever was
gone; for his glance was calm and clear, and the old smile was upon his
lips. When he beheld Oriana, a slight flush passed over his cheek.

"Are you indeed there, Miss Weems," he said, "or do I still dream? I
have been dreaming, I know not what, but I was very happy." He sighed,
and closed his eyes, as if he longed to woo back the vision which had
fled. She seemed to know what he had been dreaming, for while his cheek
paled again, hers glowed like an autumn cloud at sunset.

"I trust you are much better, Mr. Wayne?"

"Oh yes, much better. I fear I have been very troublesome to you all.
You have been very kind to me."

"Do not speak so, Mr. Wayne," she replied, and a tear glistened in her
eyes. "If you knew how grateful we all are to you! You have suffered
terribly for my sake, Mr. Wayne. You have a brave, pure heart, and I
could hate myself with thinking that I once dared to wrong and to insult
it."