"When first I saw my favorite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break,
But when the unconscious infant smiled,
I kissed it for its mother's sake."
—Byron.
With the rosy dawn of the summer day consciousness returned to Bruce Conway—a dazed, half-consciousness, though, that only took in part of the scene, and a memory that only held Grace Winans. He muttered of her in his distracted slumbers; he waked and asked for her with a piteous anxiety that went to Lulu's tender heart.
"Had we better send for her?" she wistfully queried of her brother.
"No, indeed, little sister; it would only complicate matters. She would not come; he does not deserve it. Poor boy! I am sorry, but we can do nothing."
"Nothing, brother?"
"To bring her here, I mean. Try to reason with him, Lulu, and talk him out of this feverish fancy."
"Grace—Gracie!" came in a whisper from the bed.
Lulu was by him in an instant.
"Will not I do as well as Grace?"