years older than when she came in. So aghast was I at
this sight, that I stopped Basil peremptorily, exclaiming in my wretched
Slavonic, "Turn back, this instant, if you do not wish to kill the
child!" The father glared on me angrily, and stalked across the
threshold, muttering some word that sounded like "heretic;" but Spira,
whose lovely eyes turned upon me with a ray of hope, happily interposed:
she plucked him by the sleeve, kissed it, and said humbly, "Basil, the
lady is good; I pray you hearken to her!"

Most providentially, the proud mountaineer's resolution gave way before
this meek appeal. He turned back gloomily, let me take the child from
his arms, let me have my own way, in short; I beckoned to Spira to help,
and together we placed Nilo in the soothing warm water, and coaxed the
medicine between those pearly teeth, which at first closed stubbornly
against it. It was anxious work, with Basil's dark, distrustful eyes
lowering upon me, but, thank Heaven, a blessed and complete success
crowned our efforts. Half an hour later, the cold, stiff, little limbs
had relaxed, the breathing had become soft, and natural glow and
moisture had returned to the skin; the child knew his father, and lifted
his hands caressingly to stroke Spira's face. Oh, the pure exquisite
delight of those moments, and the deep thankfulness also! My heart
silently overflowed with both. Basil and Spira were beside themselves
with joy.

To be brief. We insisted on keeping Spira and the child with us till
Nilo's strength was restored; as for Basil, he discovered that he must
return to Montenegro that night. He stalked off through the misty
moonlight, glad, I believe, of the fresh air and rapid climb as a
safety-valve for his overflowing rapture. One look was all the thanks
he offered me at that time, but what a world of feeling did that look
convey!

The night passed without further alarm.

Little Nilo quickly recovered his strength, all the more quickly,
probably, from the unwonted care I insisted on bestowing on his
ablutions and diet. He became a bonnie boy, and wound himself round our
hearts, and very sorry we were when the time came for parting. Perched
on his mother's back, he returned to the Black Mountain the day week of
his seizure.

From that time, tokens of grateful, loving remembrance from our
Montenegrin friends ceased not to flow in. It rained quinces, figs, and
walnuts; poultry cackled at our door, the bringers