"I should like to arouse her if it could be done through some pleasant channel. Had she any favorite pursuits?"
"Yes," said Laura, "she painted beautifully, and was full of enthusiasm about it."
"Speak of it, if you please."
"Margaret," said Laura, coaxingly, "you haven't painted at all to-day. And you paint so beautifully. You'll paint something for me, won't you?"
There was no answer.
"Margaret, dear, you tried to save mamma's life. That was very noble in you. We all thank you so much."
No response.
"Perhaps," very slowly and distinctly, "you think you are lying dead at the bottom of the river, and that God has forgotten your poor soul. But you are not drowned, darling. He could not take you to heaven, because you are alive. Did you fancy, perhaps, that He did not love you, and just left you? Why, He loves you dearly!"
The bewildered brain was reached at last. Like one suddenly awaking from sleep, Margaret looked around upon the group gathered about her. Laura had touched the spring few hands could have reached. It was not the shock of believing herself drowned that had dethroned her reason; it was the horror of being dead and finding her religion a fable. At a signal from the eldest physician all stole quietly away, with the exception of Laura.
Leaning over his patient, he said in kind, fatherly tones: