“Ah, Ralph, don’t get too much excited, for I want you to look well when father and mother join us at Paris.  They will be overjoyed to see how much you have improved.”

He made a hasty gesture, which she did not see, and then, ashamed at his feeling of impatience, went and sat beside her, and arranged the silks in her basket.  Engaged in this light pastime, he did not hear a low rap at the door.

“Come in,” rose to the lips of Marion; then the thought flashed on her mind that the caller might be a stranger, and she arose and opened the door.

“Have you a guide-book you can loan me?”

The voice thrilled Ralph’s being to its centre.  He raised his eyes and said,—­

“Come in; we will find the book for you.”

To Marion’s surprise she entered and seated herself by the window, but never for a moment took her eyes from the features of Ralph.

His hands trembled violently as he searched for the book among a pile on the table, and Marion had to find it at last, and pass it to the stranger, who took it, but moved not.  Her eyes seemed transfixed, her feet fastened to the floor.

“This is the person who has drawn my life so since I came here.  He is ill, but will recover,” she said, stepping towards him, and placing her soft, white hand upon his brow.

During this time Ralph was speechless, and felt as though he was struck dumb.  He trembled in every limb, as she gently led him to the couch and motioned him to lie down.  Then his limbs relaxed, his breath became calm, the face lost all trace of weariness, and he passed into a deep, mesmeric sleep.  “Fold on fold of sleep was o’er him,” and the fair one stood silently there, her eyes dreamy and far off, until his being was fully enrapt in that delicious state which but few on earth have experienced.

Then silently she withdrew, while Marion whispered in her ear, “Come again; please do, for this is so new and strange to me.”

“I will,” she said, and quietly departed.

An hour passed, and he did not awake; another, and still he slumbered.  “Can it be?  O, is it the sleep which precedes death?  I fear it may be,” and the anxious sister, musing thus, suppressed a rising sigh.  He moved uneasily.  She had disturbed the delicate state by her agitated thoughts.

“O, if she would come,” said Marion, “I should have no fear.”

At that instant the door opened, and the wished for visitor glided in.

“Has she read my thought?”

“Fear not,” whispered the stranger, in a voice and manner not her own, “thy brother but sleepeth.  All is well; disease will have left him when he awakes.  I will stay awhile.”

A volume of thanks beamed from Marion’s face at these words, as she took her seat close by the side of the fair girl.

At the end of the third hour he awoke.  The stranger glided from the room just as his eyes were opening, and Marion closed the door, and went and sat beside him.