upon the ceiling.

By and by a bird piped in the garden; the shriek of a swallow made
itself heard from a distance; the vernal day was beginning to stir from
the light, brief drowse of the vernal night. A crown of angry red
formed upon the candle wick, which toppled over in the socket and
guttered out with a sharp hiss.

Florida started from her chair. A streak of sunshine pierced shutter
and curtain. Her mother was supporting herself on one elbow in the bed,
and looking at her as if she had just called to her.

"Mother, did you speak?" asked the girl.

Mrs. Vervain turned her face away; she sighed deeply, stretched her
thin hands on the pillow, and seemed to be sinking, sinking down
through the bed. She ceased to breathe and lay in a dead faint.

Florida felt rather than saw it all. She did not cry out nor call for
help. She brought water and cologne, and bathed her mother's face, and
then chafed her hands. Mrs. Vervain slowly revived; she opened her
eyes, then closed them; she did not speak, but after a while she began
to fetch her breath with the long and even respirations of sleep.

Florida noiselessly opened the door, and met the servant with a tray of
coffee. She put her finger to her lip, and motioned her not to enter,
asking in a whisper: "What time is it, Nina? I forgot to wind my
watch."

"It's nine o'clock, signorina; and I thought you would be tired this