A few minutes later, Juliet entered the familiar room. The windows were so darkened that she could hardly see her way across it. There was a strong smell of vinegar. Was it her mother's form moving so restlessly on the bed? Was the voice which sounded so hollow and so far-away indeed her mother's? Juliet drew nearer, and words became audible.
"Oh, Juliet! Oh, my child!" wailed the weary voice. "Is she lost—lost? Tell them they must find her. She cannot have wandered so far-away. The jungle is a terrible place. There are tigers there—tigers and snakes—oh, such horrible snakes! And she such a tender little darling. Oh, why did I not take better care of her? Why did I trust her out of my sight? Juliet! Juliet!"
"Speak to her," said the nurse, drawing Juliet close to the bedside, "speak to her; she will know your voice, perhaps."
Juliet's voice was so choked by sobs that for a few moments she could not command it; but with a desperate effort she controlled herself, and bending close to her mother, she said—
"Mother, I am here. I have come back to you. Look up and see. It is I, your Juliet."
The talking suddenly ceased. Mrs. Tracy opened her eyes.
"Speak again," whispered the nurse.
"Mother, darling mother; do you not understand? Look at me, speak to me—your Juliet."
At this moment, the nurse slid back a curtain and turned the venetian blind. The sunlight entering fell on Juliet's golden head as she knelt beside her mother. A look of sudden recognition came into the patient's eyes.
"Oh, Juliet!" she murmured, in accents of joy, "Juliet! My darling!"