nute."

Bending over me, she laid her cheek to mine, and stroked the hair back
from my forehead with her small, cool hand, which reminded me of the
touch of roses. Then going softly out, she closed the door after her,
while I turned on my side, and lay, half asleep, half awake, in the
deepening twilight.

From the garden, through the open blinds of the green shutters, floated
the strong, sweet scent of the jessamine blooming on the columns of the
piazza; and I heard, now and then, as if from a great distance, the
harsh, frightened cry of a swallow as it flew out from its nest under
the roof. A sudden, sharp realisation of imperative duties left undone
awoke in my mind; and I felt impelled, as if by some outward pressure,
to rise and go back again down the long, hot hill into the city.
"There's something important I meant to do, and did not," I thought; "as
soon as this pain stops, I suppose I shall remember it, and why it is so
urgent. If I can only sleep for a few minutes, my brain will clear, and
then I can think it out, and everything that is so confused now will be
easy." In some way, I knew that this neglected duty concerned Sally and
the child. I had been selfish with Sally in my misery. When I awoke with
a clear head, I would go to her and say I was sorry.

The scent of the jessamine became suddenly so intense that I drew the
coverlet over my face in the effort to shut it out. Then turning my eyes
to the wall, I lay without thinking or feeling, while my consciousness
slowly drifted outside the closed room and the penetrating fragrance of
the garden beyond. Once it seemed to me that somebody came in a dream
and bent over me, stroking my forehead. At first I thought it was Sally,
until the roughness of the hand startled me, and opening my eyes, I saw
that it was my mother, in her faded grey calico, with the perplexed and
anxious look in her eyes, as if she, too, were trying to remember some
duty which was very important, and which she had half forgotten. "Why, I
thought you were dead!" I exclaimed aloud, and the sound of my own voice
waked me.

It was broad daylight now; the shutters were open, and the breeze,
blowing through the long window, brought the scent of jessamine
distilled in the sunshine beyond. It seemed to me that I had slept
through an eternity, and with my first waking thought, there revived the
same pressure of responsibility, the same sense of duties, unfulfilled
and imperative, with which I ha