E SAGE.

All started to their feet and rushed to the prostrate woman's
assistance.

She was but a slight creature, and Dr. Jones lifted her easily and laid
her on one of the sofas.

Electra flew upstairs to bring down a bottle of Florida water.

Emma patted and rubbed her hands.

Dr. Jones bathed her brow with cold water, sighing and muttering to
himself:

"Poor girl! Poor unfortunate girl!"

"I take blame to myself," said Emma. "She is evidently much iller than I
thought. I ought not to have persuaded her to leave her room so soon
after her cold. It is my fault."

At that instant Electra ran in with the Florida water and dashed a
liberal portion of it over the head and face of the fainting woman.

The shock and the penetrating odor combined to rouse her from
insensibility; and with a few gasps she recovered her consciousness;
though her face, after one sudden flush, settled into a deadly paleness.

"My poor dear, how are you?" inquired Emma Cavendish, kindly.

"Dying, I think; dying, I hope! Let some one help me to my room," she
murmured.

Dr. Jones at once lifted her in his arms and bore her upstairs, preceded
by Electra, who flew on before to show the way to Mary Grey's room, and
followed by Emma Cavendish, who still blamed herself for the invalid's
supposed relapse.

Dr. Jones laid her on her bed, and was about to leave her to the care of
Emma and Electra, when she seized his hand and drew him down to her face
and said:

"I wish to speak to you for a moment _now_. Send Miss Cavendish and Miss
Coroni out of the room for a little while."

"My dear children, go away for a moment. Mrs. Grey wishes to speak to me
alone," said Dr. Jones.

And Emma and Electra softly retired, with the belief that Mary Grey only
wished to consult the minister on religious subjects.

As soon as the door was closed behind them Mary Grey seized the old
man's hand and, fixing her great black eyes fiercely upon him, demanded:

"_Do they suspect?_"

"No; certainly not."

"Did you drop no word during my swoon that might have led them to
suspect?"

"Not one syllable."

"I thank you then!" she exclaimed, with a long sigh of relief.

"But, my child, was that all you wished to talk to me about?"

"That was all, except this: to beg you still to be silent as the grave
in regard to my identity."

"My child, your words disappoint and grieve me. I did hope that you
asked this private interview with the design to consult