The stars were waning, when Eugene moved, threw up his hand over the pillow, and, after a moment, opened his eyes.  Beulah leaned forward, and he looked at her fixedly, as if puzzled; then said feebly: 

“Beulah, is it you?”

A cry of joy rolled to her lips; but she hushed it, and answered tremblingly: 

“Yes, Eugene; it is Beulah.”

His eyes wandered about the room, and then rested again on her countenance, with a confused, perplexed expression.

“Am I at home?  What is the matter?”

“Yes, Eugene; at home among your best friends.  Don’t talk any more; try to sleep again.”  With a great joy in her heart she extinguished the light, so that he could see nothing.  After a few moments he said slowly: 

“Beulah, did I dream I saw you?  Beulah!” She felt his hand put out, as if to feel for her.

“No; I am sitting by you, but will not talk to you now.  You must keep quiet.”

There was a short silence.

“But where am I?  Not at home, I know.”

She did not reply, and he repeated the question more earnestly.

“You are in my house, Eugene; let that satisfy you.”

His fingers closed over hers tightly, and soon he slept.

The sun was high in the sky when he again unclosed his eyes and found Dr. Asbury feeling his pulse.  His mind was still bewildered, and he looked around him wonderingly.

“How do you feel, Graham?” said the doctor.

“Feel! as if I had been standing on my head.  What is the matter with me, doctor?  Have I been sick?”

“Well—­yes; you have not been exactly well, and feel stupid after a long nap.  Take a spoonful of this nectar I have prepared for you.  No wry faces, man!  It will clear your head.”

Eugene attempted to raise himself, but fell back exhausted, while, for the first time, he noticed his arm firmly incased in wood and bandages.

“What have you been doing to my arm?  Why, I can’t move it.  I should--”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself, Graham; you injured it, and I bound it up, that is all.  When gentlemen amuse themselves with such gymnastic feats as you performed, they must expect a little temporary inconvenience from crushed bones and overstrained muscles.  Beulah, mind my directions about silence and quiet.”

The doctor walked out to escape further questioning.  Eugene looked at his useless, stiffened arm and then at Beulah, saying anxiously: 

“What is the matter with me?”

“You were thrown out of a buggy and fractured your arm in the fall.”

She thought it best to tell the truth at once.

Memory flew back to her deserted throne, and dimly the events of that evening’s revel passed through his mind.  A flush of shame rose to his temples, and, turning his head toward the wall, he hid his face in the pillow.  Then Beulah heard a deep, shuddering sigh and a groan of remorseful agony.  After a long silence, he said, in a tone of humiliation that drew tears to her eyes: