ted tenderly and
playfully the scattered locks of her hair that lay over the pillow--so,
the calmness began to come back to her voice and the stillness of repose
to her limbs. But she never turned her face to me again; never, when the
wild words of her despair grew fewer and fainter; never, when the last
faint supplication to me, to leave her to die forsaken as she deserved,
ended mournfully in a long, moaning gasp for breath. I waited after
this--waited a long time--then spoke to her softly--then waited once
more; hearing her still breathe, but slowly and more slowly with every
minute--then spoke to her for the second time, louder than before. She
never answered, and never moved. Was she sleeping? I could not tell.
Some influence seemed to hold me back from going to the other side of
the bed, to look at her face, as it lay away from me, almost hidden in
the pillow.

The light strengthened faster, and grew mellow with the clear beauty
of the morning sunshine. I heard the sound of rapid footsteps advancing
along the street; they stopped under the window: and a voice which I
recognized, called me by my name. I looked out: Mr. Bernard had returned
at last.

"I could not get back sooner," he said; "the case was desperate, and I
was afraid to leave it. You will find a key on the chimney-piece--throw
it out to me, and I can let myself in; I told them not to bolt the door
before I went out."

I obeyed his directions. When he entered the room, I thought Margaret
moved a little, and signed to him with my hand to make no noise. He
looked towards the bed without any appearance of surprise, and asked me
in a whisper when the change had come over her, and how. I told him
very briefly, and inquired whether he had known of such changes in other
cases, like hers.

"Many," he answered, "many changes just as extraordinary, which have
raised hopes that I never knew realised. Expect the worst from the
change you have witnessed; it is a fatal sign."

Still, in spite of what he said, it seemed as if he feared to wake her;
for he spoke in his lowest tones, and walked very softly when he went
close to the bedside.

He stopped suddenly, just as he was about to feel her pulse, and looked
in the direction of the glass door--listened attentively--and said, as
if to himself--"I thought I heard some one moving in that room, but I
suppose I am mistaken; nobody can be up in the house yet." With those
words he looked down at Margaret, and gentl