of bed twice in two days was no small
feat; still, Margaret's gentle mind shrank from the thought of forcing
one so frail, so enfeebled by years of invalidism, into sudden activity
which might be injurious, or even fatal to her. She could not betray
Grace--what should she say? But there was no need of her saying
anything, for Mrs. Peyton went on, hurriedly, hardly glancing at her
auditor. Evidently it was a relief to her to free her mind.

"Why don't I send her away, you may ask. Margaret, I ask myself the same
question twenty times a day. My dear, she is too fascinating! She
interests me so! Have you heard her sing, and tell stories? I have not
been so interested for years. She makes me restless, I tell you; she
makes me think of things I had forgotten, or that I said good-by to
years and years ago. Look! she sits down on the floor here, beside the
bed--in the night, often, when I cannot sleep, and she has been rubbing
me--that is another reason why I do not let her go, Margaret; her touch
is like healing balm; there is magic in it, I tell you. She sits down
there, with her long hair falling all about her, in the moonlight,
looking like nothing earthly, and she talks--or chants, rather,--there
isn't anything like it, so I don't know what to call it--about foreign
countries. She has never seen them, or she says she never has. That is a
little matter to her; she knows all about them, twenty times as much as
I do, though I used to travel till I hated the sight of a railway or a
steamer. She tells me things about Sicily, and Norway, and the
Hebrides,--old Icelandic legends,--about Burnt Njal, and those people;
she makes me want to see the places, actually. There are plenty of
places I have not seen. She says Iceland is a flower-garden in summer.
Margaret, don't laugh at what I am going to say!"

"Indeed, I am not laughing, dear Mrs. Peyton."

"She says--this girl says--she thinks I could--get up. Get up and do
things, I mean, like other people. Did you ever hear of such nonsense?"

Mrs. Peyton laughed; but she looked eagerly at Margaret, and there was
something in her eyes that had never been there before.

Margaret leaned over her, and kissed the beautiful forehead. "I am sure
you could!" she said; and at the moment she did feel sure. Something of
Grace's spirit seemed to pass into her, and she felt a hope, a
confidence, that had never come into her mind before. Why not? Why
should it not be? Mrs. Peyton was still in