“No,” she said to herself, “people in delirium speak of their most cherished secrets and he shall not criminate himself.  It he did that terrible deed, only I of all the world can bring a shadow of suspicion against him, and the secret shall never be revealed to any other.”

So she sat the long days and longer nights away, by the side of this man she loved so hopelessly, bathing his fevered brow, holding his parched hand, and lingering fondly over the flushed, unconscious face.

He sank lower and lower day by day—­so very low that the physician said he could do no more.  He must leave the case.  There was nothing for it but to wait with patience the workings of nature.

At last, the day came when the ravings of delirium subsided and a deadly stupor intervened.  It was the crisis of the disease.  The sundown would decide, Dr. Grayson said; he would be better, or death would ensue.

Alexandrine heard his opinion in stony silence.  She sat by the bed’s-head now, calm and silent; her powers of self-control were infinite.  Her mother came in to watch for the change, as did several of Archer’s friends, heretofore excluded.  She was not afraid for them to come; there was no danger of Mr. Trevlyn criminating himself now.  He had not spoken or moved for twelve hours.

The time passed slowly.  The sun crept down the west.  The ticking of the watch on the stand was all that broke the silence of the room.  The last sun ray departed—­the west flamed with gold and crimson, and the amber light flushed with the hue of health the white face on the pillow.  Alexandrine thought she saw a change other than that the sunset light brought, and bent over him.

His eyes unclosed—­he looked away from her to the vase of early spring flowers on the centre-table.  His lips moved—­she caught the whispered word with a fierce pang at the heart: 

“Margie!”

The physician stepped forward, and sought the fluttering pulse.  His face told his decision before his lips did.

“The crisis is passed.  He will live.”

Yes, he would live.  The suspense was over.  Alexandrine’s labors were shared now, and Archer did not know how devotedly he had been tended—­how he owed his very existence to her.

He mended slowly, but by the middle of May he was able to go out.  Of course he was very grateful to the Lees, and their house was almost the only one he visited.  Alexandrine was fitful and moody.  Sometimes she received him with the greatest warmth, and then she would be cold and distant.  She puzzled Archer strangely.  He wanted to be friends with her.  He felt that he owed her an immense debt of gratitude, and he desired to treat her as he would a dear sister.

Perhaps it was because time hung so heavily on his hands that Trevlyn went so frequently to Mrs. Lee’s.  Certainly he did not go to visit Alexandrine.  We all know how the habit of visiting certain places grows upon us, without any particular cause, until we feel the necessity of going through with the regular routine every day.  He was to blame for following up this acquaintance so closely, but he did it without any wrong intention.  He never thought it possible that any one should dream of his being in love with Alexandrine.