"No medicine, plenty of fresh air, water if she asks for it. I'll be back in an hour. I must get to that man Parkins. He is bad off, and may not get through," said he, hastening away.
At once Mrs. Bond went to the room occupied by the father of the girl and beckoned Villard into the hall. As he appeared she motioned him to follow her into the room where Winifred had been tenderly placed on a downy bed, and a coverlet thrown about her.
"She's all tucked in and looks like an angel," she whispered, tip-toeing up to the bedside, with Villard closely following. "Isn't she the sweetest thing you ever saw?—the doctor left no medicine—says she's all right!"
Villard stood silent for more than a minute before replying, but it was evident that he yearned for the speedy recovery of the charming creature.
"I wish she would open her eyes—I've never seen them yet, although I held her in my arms for ten minutes," he replied, whimsically—and strange to say Winifred's eyes did open—bright as diamonds they were, but with no sense of recollection until she had gazed upon the face of Drury Villard.
At once a vague expression of happiness came over her fair features, but faintly smiling and with eyes closed, she went back to sleep.
Villard, now buoyant, grasped Mrs. Bond's arm and led her out of the room. When they were safely out of hearing he stopped abruptly and looked into her face.
"Did you observe that she recognized me?" he asked eagerly.
"I did," replied Mrs. Bond. "It gave me a start, for I felt that neither of you had seen each other before to-day."
"That's true—we have not met before. But how may we account for the fact, that after she looked into each of our faces, mine was the one she thought she knew?"