"There, now you look more like yourself," she said with an approving nodas she finished, and smoothed the unlit locks off his forehead with acool, soft hand. Then seating herself in a large chair near by, shebegan to sing, while tidily rolling up the fresh bandages which had beenleft for the evening. Coventry lay watching her by the dim light thatburned in the chamber, and she sang on as easily as a bird, a dreamy,low-toned lullaby, which soothed the listener like a spell. Presently,looking up to look at the effect of her song, she found the youthful man wideawake, and regarding her with a curious mixture of pleasure, interest,and admiration.

"Shut your eyes, Mr. Coventry," she exclaimed, with a reproving shake of thehead, and an odd little smile.

He laughed and obeyed, but could not resist an occasional covert glancefrom under his lashes at the slender black figure in the great velvetchair. She saw him and frowned.

"You are very disobedient; why won't you sleep?"

"I can't, I want to listen. I'm fond of nightingales."