In all their vigils held together no sign had ever passed from Dr. Grant to Marian that he knew her, but he had waited anxiously for this moment, knowing well that in his present state Wilford must not be shocked, as a sight of Marian would shock him.  He knew she was outside the door, and as Wilford turned his head upon the pillow, he went to her, and leading her to a safe distance, said softly: 

“His reason has returned.”

“And my services, then, are ended,” Marian rejoined, looking him steadily in the face, but not in the least prepared for his affirmative question: 

“You are Genevra Lambert?”

There was a low, gasping sound, and Marian staggered forward a step or two, then steadying herself, she said: 

“And if I am, it surely is not best for him to see me.  You would not advise it?”

She looked wistfully at Morris, the great desire to be recognized, to be spoken to kindly by the man who once had been her husband overmastering for a moment all her prudence.

“It would not be best, both for his sake and Katy’s,” Morris said, reading her thoughts aright, and with a moan like the dying out of her last hope, Marian turned away, her eyes dim with tears and her heart heavy with a sense of something lost, as in the gray dawn of the morning she went back to her former patients, who hailed her coming with childish joy, one fair young boy from the Granite hills kissing the hand which bandaged his poor crushed arm so tenderly, and thanking her that she had returned to him again.

She had not asked Dr. Grant how much he knew of her story, or where he had learned it.  She was satisfied that he did know it, and she left her case in his hands, wondering if at any time Wilford had been conscious of her presence as a nurse, and if he would miss her any.  He did miss her, but he made no comment, and when, as the morning advanced, another nurse appeared, he said to himself: 

“Surely this cannot be Miss Hazelton,” but asked no questions of any kind, and Marian’s heart grew heavier when in answer to her inquiry, Morris said:  “He has not mentioned you.”

* * * * *

“Mr. J. Cameron, Miss Bell Cameron,” were the names on the cards sent to Dr. Grant late that afternoon, and in a few moments he was with the father and sister asking so anxiously for Wilford and explaining why Katy was not with them.

Wilford was sleeping when they entered his room, his face looking so worn and thin, and his hands folded so helplessly upon his breast, that with a gush of tears Bell knelt beside him and laying her warm cheek against his bony one, woke him with her sobs.  For a moment he seemed bewildered, then recognising her, he raised his feeble arm and winding it about her neck, kissed her more tenderly than he had ever done before.  He had not been demonstrative of his affection for his sisters.  But Bell was his favorite, and he held her close to him while his eyes moved past his father, whom he did not see, on to the door as if in quest of some one.  It was Katy, and, guessing his thoughts, Bell said: