“What will you do?” inquired her father, in deep solicitude.

“See, here’s his picture,” she replied, taking it from a table near—­“the one he gave me just before he marched away.  Let him look at that and recall himself.  Then I will enter.  Oh, I’ve planned it all!  My self-control will be perfect.  Would I deserve the name of woman if I were weak or hysterical?  No, I would do my best to rescue any man from such a misfortune, much more Albert, who has such sacred claims.”

“That’s a good idea of yours about the photograph.  Well, I guess I must let Nature have her own way again, only in this instance I advise quiet methods.”

“Trust me, Doctor, and you won’t regret it.”

“Nerve yourself then to do your best, but prepare to be disappointed for the present.  I do not and cannot share in your confidence.”

“Of course you cannot,” she said, with a smile which illuminated her face into rare beauty.  “Only love and faith could create my confidence.”

“Miss Helen,” was the grave response, “would love and faith restore Captain Nichol’s right arm if he had lost it?”

“Oh, but that’s different,” she faltered.

“I don’t know whether it is or not.  We are experimenting.  There may be a physical cause obstructing memory which neither you nor any one can now remove.  Kindness only leads me to temper your hope.”

“Doctor,” she said half-desperately, “it is not hope; it is belief.  I could not feel as I do if I were to be disappointed.”

“Ah, Miss Helen, disappointment is a very common experience.  I must stop a moment and see one who has learned this truth pretty thoroughly.  Then I will bring Nichol and his parents at once.”

Tears filled her eyes.  “Yes, I know,” she sighed; “my heart just bleeds for him, but I cannot help it.  Were I not sure that Hobart understands me better than any one else, I should be almost distracted.  This very thought of him nerves me.  Think what he did for Albert from a hard sense of duty.  Can I fail?  Good-by, and please, please hasten.”

Martine rose to greet the physician with a clear eye and a resolute face.  “Why, why!” cried Dr. Barnes, cheerily, “you look a hundred per cent better.  That quinine—­”

“There, Doctor, I don’t undervalue your drugs; but Mr. Kemble has been to see me and appealed to me for help—­to still be on hand if needed.  Come, I’ve had my hour for weakness.  I am on the up-grade now.  Tell me how far the affair has progressed.”

“Haven’t time, Hobart.  Since Mr. Kemble’s treatment is so efficacious, I’ll continue it.  You will be needed, you will indeed, no matter how it all turns out.  I won’t abandon my drugs, either.  Here, take this.”

Martine took the medicine as administered.  “Now when you feel drowsy, go to sleep,” added the doctor.

“Tell me one thing—­has she seen him yet?”

“No; his father and mother have, and he does not know them.  It’s going to be a question of time, I fear.”