The queen of the isle

by May Agnes Fleming

She cast her eyes, in a sort of languid amaze, about the room where she lay, with a dreamy wonder how she had got there. She saw indistinctly, as we see things in a dream, a small, square room, with a rough, uncarpeted floor; two chairs, a small table, and various articles of wearing-apparel hanging around the walls. A little stand, on which lay bottles, linen bandages, and a glass filled with a dark liquid stood near the head of the bed on which she lay. At the foot of the bed was a small, square window, covered with a dark paper blind, but through which the sunlight peeped here and there in chinks.

All was profoundly still. She could hear the flies buzzing and droning as they flew over her head; she could hear what she fancied must be trees waving gently in the wind, with a low, soothing sound, inexpressibly sweet; and like a wearied child she closed her eyes, and fell into a deep slumber.

Again she awoke; and now she knew it must be night. Some one had evidently been in the room while she slept, for the curtain had been rolled up from the window, and the moonlight came softly and brightly in. She could see, without moving, the tall, dark trees beyond; and she knew she must be in the forest. Once more her eyes wandered round the room; and reason now made a terrible effort to resume its powers. Where was she? What had happened? Who had brought her here? As her mind began to clear, and consciousness to return, question after question rose to her lips. She closed her eyes, and struggled to recall the past. Gradually the broken links in the chain of memory began to reunite. She recalled the note Willard had sent her, that appointed their meeting on the beach—that night of storm and tempest through which she had gone to meet him—that meeting—and then, with a pang sharper than death, came the terrible recollection of his plunging the knife into her side.

She could think no further, the recollection of that dreadful moment seemed driving her mad. She made an effort to rise, to cry out; but just then, a hand was laid soothingly on her forehead, and a voice met her ear, saying:

"Gently, gently, my child. Thee must not get up. Here, lie still, and drink this."

Some one—she could not tell whether it was man or woman—was bending over her, and holding the glass to her lips. Too weak to resist, she drank it off, and almost instantaneously, fell into a deep sleep.

Days, weeks passed before consciousness returned. During all that time she had a vague idea of talking, raving wildly, incoherently to Willard—imploring him not to kill her, and she would never reveal their marriage; and then shrieking aloud as though again she felt the steel entering her bosom. Sometimes, too, she fancied Sibyl standing before her, with her wild, black, menacing eyes, as she had been the last time she saw her, and once again, would she clasp her little, pale hands, and piteously implore her to spare her. Anon her mood would change, and she would speak in low, subdued tones of Mrs. Tom and Carl, and strive to rise from bed, saying wildly, "she must go home to Aunt Tom." And then, falling back exhausted, she would vaguely see a kind face bending over her, a hand holding a cooling drink to her lips, or wetting and arranging the bandages on her wound. This, too, like the rest, would pass, and life and thought would again fora time be blotted out.

But one bright, golden, August afternoon, the blue eyes opened, no longer wild with the fires of fever, but calm and serene once more. A naturally strong constitution, united with youth, and skillful though rough nursing, had triumphed at last over her long and dangerous illness.

Weak as an infant; unable to move hand or foot; pale, thin, and spiritual as a shadow, she came back to life once more. Her feet had stood on the threshold of the valley of the shadow of death, but they were not permitted to pass therein; and the soft eyes looked forth from the little wan face, with the light of reason again.

It was a glorious summer evening. From the window at her feet, she could see the tall trees crowned with sunshine, that fell like a glory on her pale, transparent brow. Through the open door, came floating in the delicious odor of flowers, and the sweet, wild songs of birds, breathing of peace and holy calm.