“You can now, my sweet,” said Betty, venturing to kiss her.

Recollection came.  “Sister Betty, is it you indeed?” and she threw her arms round Betty’s neck, clinging tight to her in delicious silence, till she raised her head and said:  “No, this is not home.  Oh, is it all true?”

“True that I have you again, my dear, dearest, sweetest child,” said Betty.  “Oh, thank God for it.”

“Thank God,” repeated Aurelia.  “Now I have you nothing will be dreadful.  But where am I?  I thought once I was in a boat with you and Eugene, and some one else.  Was it a dream?  I can’t remember anything since that terrible old woman made me drink the coffee.  You have not come there, have you?”

“No, dear child, it was no dream that you were in a boat.  We had been searching everywhere for you, and we were bringing you back sound, sound asleep,” said Betty, in her tenderness speaking as it to a little child.

“I knew you would,” said Aurelia; “I knew God would save me.  Love is strong as death, you know,” she added dreamily:  “I think I felt it all round me in that sleep.”

“That was what you murmured once or twice in your sleep,” said Betty.

“And now, oh! it is so sweet to lie here and know it is you.  And wasn’t he there too?”

“Sir Amyas?  Yes, my dear.  He came for you.  He and my father and the others are in the other room waiting for you to wake.”

“I hear their voices,” cried Aurelia, with a start, sitting up.  “Oh! that’s my papa’s voice!  Oh! how good it is to hear it!”

“I will call him as soon as I have set you a little in order.  Are you sure you are well, my dearest?  No headache?”

“Quite, quite well!  Why, sister, I have not been ill; and if I had, I should skip to see you and hear their voices, only I wish they would speak louder!  That’s Eugene!  Oh! they are hushing him.  Let me make haste,” and she moved with an alacrity that was most reassuring.  “But I can’t understand.  Is it morning or evening?”

“Evening, my dear.  They are at supper.  Are not you hungry?”

“Oh, yes, I believe I am;” but as she was about to wash her hands:  “My rings, my wedding-ring?  Look in my glove!”

“No, they are not there my dear, they must have robbed you!  And oh!  Aurelia, what have you done to your hair?”

“My hair?  It was all there this morning.  Sister, it was that woman, I remember now, I was not quite sound asleep, but I had no power to move or cry out, and the woman was snipping and Loveday crying.”

“Vile creature!” burst out Betty.

“My hair will grow!” said Aurelia; “but I had so guarded my wedding-ring—­and what will he, Sir Amyas, think?”

Their voices were at this moment heard, and in another second Aurelia was held against her father’s breast, as in broken words he sobbed out thanks for her restoration, and implored her pardon for having trusted her out of his care.