“Forgive me that I ever doubted you. It was natural that you should come, but foolish in Katy to send or think Genevra is living. I have seen her grave myself. I know that she is dead. Did Katy name any one whom she believed to be Genevra?”
“No one. She merely said she had seen the original of the picture,” Morris replied.
“A fancy,—a mere whim,” Wilford muttered to himself, as, greatly disquieted and terribly humbled, he paced the room moodily, trying not to think hard thoughts either against his wife or Dr. Grant, who, feeling that it would be pleasanter for Wilford if he were gone, suggested returning to Silverton at once, inasmuch as the crisis was past and Katy out of danger. There was a struggle in Wilford’s mind as to the answer he should make to this suggestion, but at last he signified his willingness for the doctor to leave when he thought best.
It was broad day when Katy woke, so weak as to be unable to turn her head upon the pillow, but in her eyes the light of reason was shining, and she glanced wonderingly, first at Helen, who had come in, and then at Wilford, as if trying to comprehend what had happened.
“Have I been sick?” she asked in a whisper, and Wilford, bending over her, replied, “Yes, very sick for nearly two whole weeks—ever since I left home that morning, you know?”
“Yes,” and Katy shivered a little. “Yes, I know. But where is Morris? He was here the last I can remember.”
Wilford’s face grew dark at once, and stepping back as Morris came in, he said, “She asks for you.” Then with a rising feeling of resentment he watched them, while Morris spoke to Katy, telling her she must not allow herself in any way to be excited.
“Have I been crazy? Have I talked much?” she asked; and when Morris replied in the affirmative, she said, “Of whom have I talked most?”
“Of Genevra,” was the answer, and Katy continued,
“Did I mention any one else?”