When the curtains were withdrawn from my windows, and I was strong enough to look once more on the outer world, I found the late April sun was bringing back life and beauty to the trees and shrubbery around Oaklands.  Thomas and Samuel were well on with their gardening, and already a few brave blossoms were smiling up at us from mother earth.  I felt like one who had been visiting dim, mysterious shores, and had got safely back from those outlying regions.  I used to lie in those quiet hours of convalescence, trying to decide what was real and what fanciful in the experiences of the last few weeks.  When Mrs. Flaxman considered me strong enough to listen to consecutive conversation she gave me the particulars of my sudden attack of illness and the incidents connected therewith.

I was one of the first stricken with a virulent type of typhoid fever which, in very many cases, had proved fatal.

A want of sanitary precaution in Cavendish had caused the outbreak which caused, in loss of life, and incidental expenses, far more than the most approved drainage would do in a generation.  I was amazed when the names of my fellow sufferers were mentioned; among them Mrs. Le Grande, whose recovery was still considered by the doctors exceedingly uncertain.

Mr. Winthrop, she informed me, had not sufficient confidence in the local doctors to trust me entirely to their care, and at the height of the fever had sent for one from New York.  “But for that,” she continued, “I believe you would be in your grave to-day.”

“I did not think Mr. Winthrop would care very much.  He is so angry with me.”

“He very soon got over his anger when he found how sick you were.  At first he was nearly beside himself; for he thought it was the message I had taken to you from him that day that caused your illness.  He would come to your bedside, and listen to your appeals for forgiveness with such an expression of pain on his face.  Sometimes he would take your hands in his, assuring you of his forgiveness; but you never understood him.  I was afraid you would die without ever knowing.”

“But I would have known all about it, once my spirit had got freed from the body; I cannot describe what glimpses I have had of other worlds than ours.  It seemed so restful there; so much better than we have words to describe.”

“We are so glad you did not leave us for that place, even though it is so beautiful.”

“When this life is done, and its work all finished, I may slip away there.  I think my soul saw its home and can never again be so fully content with earth.”

“Try not to think about it, Medoline, any more.”

“Why not?”

“When a person’s spirits begin to get homesick for a higher existence, usually they soon drift quietly away where they long to be.”

Another day she told me how much Mrs. Blake had done for me, nursing me with a skill and patience that drew high praise from the dignified city physician accustomed to skilled nurses.  Mr. Winthrop used to come and go, watching her closely, and one day he said:—­