“Do you know me, dearie?” I was sure it was Mrs. Blake’s voice sounding strong and real.

“Is it Mrs. Blake?” I asked uncertainly.

“Yes, dearie, it jest is.”  Then I shut my eyes, so tired I could not even think; but I heard a rustling sound, and a voice, that sounded a long way off, murmur, “Thank God!” The voice sounded familiar, but I could not recall whose it was.  I tried to do so, but the effort wearied me.  A spoon was put to my lips, the milk that was given to me brought back the long ago times—­so long ago, I wondered if now I was an old woman; but after brief reflection I knew this could not be, since Mrs. Blake was still alive, and not much older in appearance than when I saw her last.  To make sure of the matter I determined to look at her again, and opened my eyes to settle my perplexity; but this time the face looking down at me was not Mrs. Blake’s.  I tried to raise my head on the pillow the better to see who it was, when the person stooped near to me and said:  “You are coming back to us, Medoline.”  I wondered who was calling me by that name.  No one save Mr. Winthrop and Mrs. Flaxman were in the habit now of doing so; but my strength was so rapidly waning I could neither see nor hear very distinctly.  After a few seconds, once more rallying all my forces, I looked up again.

“Who is it?” I whispered.

“Do you not know me, Medoline?”

“Is it,”—­I paused, trembling so with excitement I could scarce articulate,—­“is it Mr. Winthrop?”

“Yes, little one.”

The old caressing name he had given me long ago, surely he must have forgiven me or he would not use it now.  But I was not satisfied without the assurance that we were to take up again the kindly relations of the past; and so with an effort that seemed likely to sweep me back dangerously near that shore I had so lately been skirting, I looked up and said:  “I am sorry I displeased you; won’t you forgive me?” My voice was so weak I was afraid he could not catch the words I uttered; but he folded my thin, shadowy hand in his, which seemed so strong and muscular I fancied it could hold me back from the gates of Death if its owner so willed, and after a few seconds’ silence, he said, gently:  “You must never think of that again, Medoline.  Just rest, and come back to us.  We all want you more than we can tell.”

“Then I am forgiven, and you will trust me once more,” I pleaded softly.

“Yes, Medoline, as I expect to be trusted by you,” he said, with a solemnity that made me tremble.  My eyes closed in utter weariness and then I seemed to be floating, floating over summer seas, and under such peaceful, blessed skies, I began to wonder if I was not passing out to the quiet coast bordering on the Heavenly places.