"I am Perdita, you know," with an anxious smile. "You met me in your delirium often enough, don't you remember?"
"Yes, yes—was that it? When did you find me?"
"Three weeks ago. You were in the first stages of yellow fever. You would have died if God had not providentially sent me here in time."
"So strange that you should risk your life for me—a tender lady."
"It was a pleasure to me, sir. I was not afraid of the risk."
"The very physicians fled from the smitten wretches by scores, for fear of sharing their fate. We had but few doctors in the city for a fortnight who were brave enough to stay, and we had to take turns and do what we could for each other. The very negroes could not be bought with money to stay with us, but fled, panic-stricken, and left us to die unattended. Nineteen bodies were carried out of this house in one day, and the last I can remember before I crawled into this room away from the groans to die, were the ghastly bodies of poor Major Hilton and the commandant of the forces lying waiting for removal. I held out longest, but had to succumb at last. It is so strange to wake up from death, and to find a lovely lady at my bedside, breathing my poisoned breath, and wooing me from my companions' fate with such devotion."
"A lovely lady!" How she glows over with surprised blushes and smiles! How she stoops again to catch the feeble accents and to read the upraised orbs.
"Lovely! Yes, yes; more than lovely—better than beautiful. When I looked up from my dream of death I thought yours the face of an angel. I think so still."
"Hush! hush! If you talk so wildly, dear, I shall think you are wandering again."
"I am not wandering, my Perdita. If ever I do, your beloved hand has but to touch mine and I will come back. Sometimes I have thought of late——"