Dorothea was by her side in an instant, and taking the thin fingers in her strong hands, replied:  “Thee is among friends.”

Pepeeta looked long into the calm face above her, and gathered reassurance; but her memory did not at once return.

“Have I ever been in this place before?  Have I ever seen your face?  Has something dreadful happened?  Tell me,” she entreated, gazing with agitation into the calm eyes that looked down into hers.

“I cannot tell thee whether thee has ever seen us before, but we have seen thee so much for a few days that we feel like old friends,” said Dorothea, pressing the hand she held, and smiling.

Pepeeta’s eyes wandered about the room restlessly for a moment, and then some dim remembrance of the past came back.

“Did I come here in a great storm?” she asked.

“Thee did, indeed.  The night was wild and cold.”

“Did I fall on the threshold?”

“Upon the very threshold, and let us thank God for that, because if thee had fallen at the gate or in the path we should never have heard thee.”

Pepeeta struggled to a sitting posture as her memory clarified, fixed her wide open eyes upon Dorothea and asked, pathetically, “Where is he?”

“I do not know who thee means,” said Dorothea, laying her hand on the invalid’s shoulders and trying gently to push her back upon her pillow.

“David!” she exclaimed, “David.  Tell me if you know, for it seems to me I shall die if I do not hear.”

“I do not know, my love.  It is a long time since we have heard from David.  But thee must lie down.  Thee is not strong enough to talk.”

She did not need to force her now.  The muscles relaxed, and Pepeeta sank back upon her pillow, sobbing like a little child, while Dorothea stroked her forehead.  The soothing touch of her hand and her gentle presence calmed the agitated and disappointed heart.  The sobs became less frequent, the tears ceased to flow, and sleep, coming like a benediction, brought the balm of oblivion.

The boy, with his great brown eyes, looked wonderingly from the face of the invalid to that of his mother, who sat silently weaving in her imagination the story of this life, from the few strands which she had seized in this brief and broken conversation.

The next morning when Pepeeta awakened she was not only rested and refreshed by this natural sleep, but was restored to the full possession of her consciousness and her memory.

When Dorothea came in from her morning duties to see how her patient fared, she was startled by the change, for the invalid had recovered that calm self-possession which she had lost before beginning her journey, and now that her uncertainty was ended had already begun to face disappointment with fortitude and resolution.

The nurse seated herself by the patient, who said humbly: 

“May I talk now?”

“If thee feels strong enough and can do it without exciting thyself, thee may.  But if thee cannot, thee had better wait a little longer.  Thee is very weak.”