All night she listened; in her short slumbers she dreamed of him; In the morning her wandering senses had returned. Lotis entered her room with her breakfast; and the wild light in Chione's eyes had subsided. She looked around; she inquired, "Where am I? Lotis, why are you here?"
"I am here to tend you, dear Chione; you have been ill."
"Ill!" said Chione, passing her hand over her brow; "Ill! I've, had a long, strange dream! Where's Magas?"
"I do not know," said Lotis.
"He was here last night," said Chione. "I heard his voice; all night I watched for him; why did he keep away?"
"I cannot tell you," answered Lotis.
"Cannot tell! Is not this his house? is he not at home?"
"No! this is not his house," said Lotis; "he has been away from Athens, and he left you here to be taken care of. Now you must ask no more questions, but take your breakfast. I will send to Magas to tell him you are better."
Lotis left the room and summoned another attendant, charging her to be careful of her speech, lest the newly returned reason should again fail, she herself sought the bishop to let him know of the change.
It required some care to break to Chione the tidings that she was in the house of the Lady Damaris; that for two years she had been a prey to a most cruel malady of the brain, during which time Lotis had taken every possible care of her; and that Magas had been, during that time, away. Reawakened reason almost tottered again on its throne. Chione's pride was evidently hurt.