Bid me good-by, and go.
Good-by, good-by—’tis better so;
Bid me good-by, and go.”
Margery moved again. This time her eyes wandered round the room; it was strange to her. Where was she? What place was this?
While a look of perplexity and pain was dawning on her pure, pale face, some one bent over her.
“Miladi is better?”
“Where am I?” asked Margery, faintly.
“Miladi has been ill,” replied the quiet, soothing voice—“very ill. She is by the sea now. Does not miladi hear the waves?”
A faint rippling sound was borne in on the silence, mingling with the song without.
“The sea!” murmured Margery, vaguely. “Where? Am I dreaming?”