"Does it ache?"
"No; but it is so queer; and I have had a horrid dream—oh! a horrid, ghastly dream; but I can't recall it."
"Don't try, my darling; you took cold in the storm last night, and you are not well now; so turn your thoughts away from your disagreeable dream, and fix them upon something else," said Beatrix soothingly, although at heart she was very much alarmed, as it was probable that the sight of her favorite little effects had started a train of associations that might bring her back to perfect sanity and to utter agony.
At that moment, too, there was a diversion. Lyon Berners entered the cell, bringing in a basket of fruit and flowers.
"From your own garden and conservatories, my dear Sybil. Until you are well enough to go home, you must have some of your home comforts brought here," he said, as he set the elegant basket down on a stand, and went and embraced her.
"Yes; thank you very much, dear Lyon. When do you think I will be well enough to go home?" she asked, and then, without giving the slightest attention to her husband's affectionate answer, she dropped at once into a deep and dreamy state of abstraction.
Miss Pendleton beckoned Mr. Berners to come to her at one of the windows.
"What is it?" inquired Lyon, anxiously.
"She came very near a consciousness of her position just now, when she first recognized her property, but the peril passed away. And now we must be very careful to foster this merciful insanity that shields her from misery. And as one precaution, I wish you would ask the warden to oil these rusty bolts and bars, and make them work noiselessly. She has never noticed that she is locked and bolted in, and I wish her never to notice it, or to suspect it."
"Thanks, a thousand thanks, dear Beatrix! I will follow your suggestions," said Mr. Berners, warmly grasping her hand.