“Have you not heard your mistress speak of him at all?”

“Yes, that is, he once did the family some important service.  Do you say that he talked of Senorita Isabella in the hours of his delirium?”

“Yes, and in looking into his dressing-case, a few days since, to find some lint for his wounds, I discovered this,” said tire surgeon, showing the girl a miniature, painted on ivory with great skill and beauty.  “I think it must be a likeness of the Senorita Isabella,” continued the surgeon, “though I have never seen her to know her but once.”

“It is indeed meant for her,” said the girl, eagerly scanning the soft and delicate picture, which represented the Senorita Isabella Gonzales as sitting at an open window and gazing forth on the soft, dreamy atmosphere of a tropical sunset.

“You think it is like her?”

“O, very.”

“Well, I was sure that it was meant for the lady when I first saw it.”

“May I bathe his temples with this Florida water?” asked the girl, as she observed the sick man to move slightly and to moan.

“Yes, it will have a tendency to rouse him gently, and it is now time for him to wake.”

The girl smoothed back the dark locks from the soldier’s brow, and with her hands bathed his marble-like forehead and temples as gently as she might have done had he been an infant.  The stimulating influence of the delicate spirits she was using was most delightful to the senses of the sick man, and a soft smile for a moment breathed his lips, as half awake and half dreaming, he returned thanks for the kindness, mingled with Isabella’s name.

The girl bent over his couch to hear the words, and the surgeon saw a tear drop upon the sick man’s hand from the girl’s eyes as she stood there!  In a moment more the soldier seemed to arouse, and uttered a long deep sigh, as though relieved from some heavy weight that had long been oppressing him, both mentally and physically.  He soon opened his eyes, and looked languidly about him, as if striving to recall his situation, and what had prostrated him thus.

The girl stepped immediately back from the bedside, as she observed these tokens, and droping the rebosa that had been heretofore confined, veil-like to the crown of her head, and partially screened her features, but she showed most unmistakable signs of delight, as she read in the soldier’s eyes that reason had once more returned to her throne, and that Lorenzo Bezan was once more rational.

“How beautiful!” uttered the surgeon, half aloud, as he stood gazing at the girl.  “If the mistress be as lovely as the maid, no wonder Captain Bezan has talked of her in his delirium!”

“Step hither, step hither, he is awake!” whispered the girl to the surgeon.

“And his reason too has returned,” said the professional man, as soon as his eyes rested on the wounded soldier’s face.  “There is hope now!”

“Thank Heaven for its infinite mercy!” said the girl, with an earnest though tremulous voice, as she gathered her rebosa about her face and prepared to depart.