At the expiration of the fifth day of convalescence, Olga was wrapped in warm shawls and placed on the couch, which had been drawn near the grate where a bright fire burned.  Thin and wan, she lay back on the cushions and pillows, with her wasted hands drooping listlessly beside her.  Moody, and taciturn, she refused all aid from any but Regina, and mercilessly exacted her continual presence.  By day the latter waited upon and read to her; by night she rested on the same bed, where the unhappy woman remained for hours awake, and inconsolable, dwelling persistently upon her luckless fate.  At Mrs. Palma’s suggestion her stepson had not visited the sick-room since the recovery of Olga’s consciousness; and being closely confined to the limits of the apartment, Regina had not seen her guardian for several days.  About three o’clock in the afternoon, when she had finished brushing the short tangled hair that clung in auburn rings around the invalid’s forehead, Olga said: 

“Read me the ‘Penelope.’”

Regina sat down on a low stool close to the couch, and while she opened the book and read, Olga’s right arm stole over her shoulder.  At the opposite side of the hearth her mother sat, watching the pair; and she saw the door open sufficiently to admit Mr. Palma’s head.  Quickly she waved him back with a warning gesture; but he shook his head resolutely, advanced a few steps, and stood in a position which prevented the girls from discovering his presence.  As Regina paused to turn a leaf, Olga began a broken recitation, grouping passages that suited her fancy: 

“Yea, love, I am alone in all the world,
The past grows dark upon me where I wait.

* * * * *

Behold how I am mocked!

* * * * *

They come to me, mere men of hollow clay,
And whisper odious comfort, and upbraid
The love that follows thee where’er thou art.

* * * * *

And they have dragged a promise from my lips
To choose a murderer of my love for thee,
To choose at will from out the rest one man
To slay me with his kisses!”——­

She groaned, and gently caressing her hand, Regina read on, and completed the poem.

When she closed the book, Mr. Palma came forward and stood at the side of the couch, and in his hand he held several letters.  At sight of him a flush mounted to Olga’s hollow cheek, and she put her fingers over her eyes.  He quietly laid one hand on her forehead and said pleadingly: 

“Olga, dear sister, if you had died without becoming reconciled to me, I should never have felt satisfied or happy, and I thank God you have been spared to us; spared to allow me an opportunity of explaining some thirds which, misunderstood, have caused you to hate me.  Regina let me have this seat a little while, and in half an hour you ard Mrs. Palma can come back.  I wish to talk alone with Olga.”