Mr. St. John came but once: he looked at me，and said my state of lethargy was the result of reaction from excessive and protracted fatigue. He pronounced it needless to send for a doctor: nature，he was sure，would manage best，left to herself. He said every nerve had been overstrained in some way，and the whole system must sleep torpid a while. There was no disease. He imagined my recovery would be rapid enough when once menced. These opinions he delivered in a few words，in a quiet，low voice; and added，after a pause，in the tone of a man little accustomed to expansive ment，"Rather an unusual physiognomy; certainly，not indicative of vulgarity or degradation."

"Far otherwise," responded Diana. "To speak truth，St. John，my heart rather warms to the poor little soul. I wish we may be able to benefit her permanently."

"That is hardly likely," was the reply. "You will find she is some young lady who has had a misunderstanding with her friends，and has probably injudiciously left them. We may，perhaps，succeed in restoring her to them，if she is not obstinate: but I trace lines of force in her face which make me sceptical of her tractability." He stood considering me some minutes; then added，"She looks sensible，but not at all handsome."

"She is so ill，St. John."

"Ill or well，she would always be plain. The grace and harmony of beauty are quite wanting in those features."

On the third day I was better; on the fourth，I could speak，move，rise in bed，and turn. Hannah had brought me some gruel and dry toast，about，as I supposed，the dinner-hour. I had eaten with relish: the food was good- void of the feverish flavour which had hitherto poisoned what I had swallowed. When she left me，I felt paratively strong and revived: ere long satiety of repose and desire for action stirred me. I wished to rise; but what could I put on? Only my damp and bemired apparel; in which I had slept on the ground and fallen in the marsh. I felt ashamed to appear before my benefactors so clad. I was spared the humiliation.