“I will come!” she replied heartily; and there was something healthy and cheerful in her manner as they entered the sick-room; but her expression suddenly changed, and she asked pensively: 

“And supposing we restore the unhappy girl—­what good will she get by it?”

“She will breathe and see the sunshine,” replied the leech; “she will be grateful to you, and finally she will contribute what she can to the whole body.  She will be alive in short, she will live.  For life—­feel it, understand it as I do—­life is the best thing we have.”  Paula gazed with astonishment in the man’s unlovely but enthusiastic face.  How radiantly joyful!

No one could have called it ugly at this moment, or have said that it lacked charm.

He believed what he had asserted with such fervent feeling, though it was in contradiction to a view he had held only yesterday and often defended:  that life in itself was misery to all who could not grasp it of their own strength, and make something of it worth making.  At this moment he really felt that it was the best gift.

Paula went forward, and his eyes followed her, as the gaze of the pious pilgrim is fixed on the holy image he has travelled to see, over seas and mountains, with bruised feet.

They went up to the sick girl’s bed.  The nun drew back, making her own reflections on the physician’s altered mien, and his childlike, beaming contentment, as he explained to Paula what particular peril threatened the sufferer, and by what treatment he hoped to save her; how to make the bandages and give the medicines, and how necessary it was to accept the poor crazy girl’s fancies and treat them as rational ideas so long as the fever lasted.

At last he was forced to go and attend to other patients.  Paula remained sitting at the head of the bed and gazing at the face of the sufferer.

How fair it was!  And Orion had snatched this rose in the bud, and trodden it under foot!  She had, no doubt, felt for him what Paula herself felt.  And now?  Did she feel nothing but hatred of him, or could her heart, in spite of her indignation and scorn, not altogether cast off the spell that had once bound it?

What weakness was this!  She was, she must, she would be his foe!

Her thoughts went back to the idle and futile life that she had led for so many years.  The physician had hit the mark; and he had been too easy rather than severe.  Yes, she would begin to make good use of her powers—­but how, in what way, here and among these people?  How transfigured poor Philippus had seemed when she had given him her hand; with what energy had he poured forth his words.

“And how false,” she mused, “is the saying that the body is the mirror of the soul!  If it were so, Philippus would have the face of Orion, and Orion that of Philippus.”  But could Orion’s heart be wholly reprobate?  Nay, that was impossible; her every impulse resisted the belief.  She must either love him or hate him, there was no third alternative; but as yet the two passions were struggling within her in a way that was quite intolerable.