wanted to make him believe that she was real. But she was not clever
enough. The best way to pay her out for her deception was to take no
notice of her whatsoever. So comforted, he would go to sleep.

At last one morning he woke, a miserably weak but perfectly sane
man, and he turned his head from side to side and looked wonderingly
at the fresh and exquisite room. A bowl of Morning Glow roses stood
by his bedside, gracious things for fevered eyes to rest upon. A few
large photographs of famous pictures hung on the walls. In front of
him was the Santa Barbara of Palma Vecchio, which he recognized with
a smile. He had read about it, and knew that the original was in
Venice. Knowledge of things like that was comforting.

The nurse, noticing the change, came up to him and spoke in a
soothing voice. "Are you feeling better?"

"I think so "said Paul. "I suppose I've been very ill."

"Very ill," said the nurse.

"This can't be a hospital?"

"Oh, no. It's the house of some very kind, good friends. You don't
know them," she added quickly, seeing him knit a perplexed brow.
"You stumbled into their garden and fainted. And they're very
anxious for you to get well and strong."

"Who are they?" asked Paul.

"Colonel and Miss Winwood. T hey will be so glad to see you better--at