The veiled attendant drew back and waved her hand, and some one glided forward, and said in a low, soft voice, “You have not forgotten me?”
And Lothair beheld Monsignore Catesby.
“It is a long time since we met,” said Lothair, looking at him with some scrutiny, and then all interest died away, and he turned away his vague and wandering eyes.
“But you know me?”
“I know not where I am, and I but faintly comprehend what has happened,” murmured Lothair.
“You are among friends,” said the monsignore, in tones of sympathy. “What has happened,” he added, with an air of mystery, not unmixed with a certain expression of ecstasy in his glance, “must be reserved for other times, when you are stronger, and can grapple with such high themes.”
“How long have I been here?” inquired Lothair, dreamily.
“It is a month since the Annunciation.”
“What Annunciation?”
“Hush!” said the monsignore, and he raised his finger to his lip. “We must not talk of these things—at least at present. No doubt, the same blessed person that saved you from the jaws of death is at this moment guarding over your recovery and guiding it; but we do not deserve, nor does the Church expect, perpetual miracles. We must avail ourselves, under Divine sanction, of the beneficent tendencies of Nature; and in your case her operations must not be disturbed at this moment by any excitement, except, indeed, the glow of gratitude for celestial aid, and the inward joy which must permeate the being of any one who feels that he is among the most favored of men.”