he knelt beside her, and burying his face
in his hands, prayed to God, more fervently
than he had ever prayed before, to restore her
to her senses. On looking up again, he saw
that her eyes were half open. She stretched
forth her arm languidly, and laid her hand
upon his shoulder; and then, slowly opening
her eyes further, stared at him with an
expression of wonder.

"I am better," she said; " I have been
very ill."

"Indeed you have, Annie," he replied.
"What have I not suffered in these few
moments! I prayed to God that He would
not let you die, and He has heard me."

"Yes, yes," said Annie, as if in answer to
her own thoughts, "I remember now how it
was." A sudden shudder seized her as she
spoke; and she turned in her chair, and, lying
sideways, moaned.

At this moment Mrs. Frampton returned,
and William Chester related to her what had
happened. "Hush!" she said; "her manner
has been very strange lately. I have thought
sometimes," she added, lowering her voice
into a whisper, "that her mind has
wandered."

The thought that Mrs. Frampton's
conjecture might be right passed suddenly through
the mind of the young basket-maker; but he
remembered the terrible earnestness of her
manner. "No, no, mother," he said, "it is
not that—but she is looking towards us."

"Why, how now, poor Annie—poor little
Annie?" said the old woman, smoothing her
hair with the palm of her hand. " You have
been ill, and I away."

Annie did not answer, but smiled faintly;
and Mrs. Frampton, leading her gently, sat
her down in a large arm-chair with a high
leathern back; and with the help of her
companion wheeling her round to the front of the
fire, began to prepare for her some warm
drink.

"I had intended to return to-night," said
he; " and I am sure they will be anxious for
me on the island. However, the coach is gone
now, and I may as well stay and wait upon
Annie."

"Aye, aye," replied Mrs. Frampton, "I
shall be going out again, by-and-bye, to a
neighbour's house, to get her something which
will restore her, if she should be attacked
again; and it would not be safe to leave
her. Poor girl! the fire has drawn her to
sleep."

As soon as Mrs. Frampton was gone, the
young basket-maker took his seat beside the
fire, and watched her as she slept. Suddenly
he recalled the night when he sat and watched
her in the same manner many years before.
He was sitting in the same place and she was
sleeping in the same arm-chair. Nothing
seemed to have changed since then, except
that she had become a woman. They were
alone. The kettle was singing beside the
cheerful fire, and the cat, though probably a
grandchild of his old favourite, was purring
still, coiled up upon the rug; and he
wondered, as he turned and gazed at the live
coals, whether that strange fancy, which
sometimes makes the present seem a reflex of
the past, might be, in truth, a shadowy
memory of something we have thought or
done, in the long list of forgotten days.
Many other fancies chased each other through
his mind, as he waited for Mrs. Frampton's
return. It was a rough night out of doors:
it was not raining, but the wind blew hard,
and shook the doors and shutters; yet Annie
slept on. It might have been a fancy, as it
struck him at first, but once he thought he
heard a tapping on the shutters, which seemed
too regular to be the beating of the gusts.
He listened, and not hearing it any more, fell
again into a deep thought, till once more he
thought he heard a tapping. He stretched
forward, and listened intently; and then,
whether it was again a fancy, growing out of
the eagerness with which he listened, or not,
he felt sure of having heard a voice without
pronounce the name of "Annie." He rose
from his seat, and, walking quickly, on tip-toe,
across the room, opened the street-door
without noise. The night was dark; and,
looking up and down the street, at first, it
seemed deserted; but, on turning again
towards the College, he saw, by the light of an
oil-lamp, a figure, at some distance, on the
opposite side of the way. Instantly, he drew
the key out of the lock; and, putting it again
into the keyhole on the outside, so as to
fasten the door, silently, without awakening
the sleeper, he left her in the house alone,
and darted across the road in the direction
of the lamp. The figure glided under the
trees at his approach, and disappeared; but
the young basket-maker followed swiftly, till
he came to the entrance of the College; and,
finding the gate ajar (which he knew to be
unusual at that hour) he pushed it open and
entered.

The place was dark, but still he thought
he heard the sound of a footstep retreating
across the quadrangle, and he followed
again. Passing under the clock-tower, he
entered the cloisters, and stayed to listen;
but he heard nothing. Fancying still,
however, that he had heard a footstep in that direction,
he walked around the cloisters; but,
though they were lighted by several lamps, he
saw nothing. It was plain that the object had
escaped him; and, remembering that he had
left Annie alone; and, that if she awakened,
she would be alarmed, he passed again quickly
across the quadrangle and returned home.
Annie was still sleeping and Mrs. Frampton
had not returned; so he took his seat
again beside the fire, and listened, though
he had little expectation of hearing the voice
again.

The young basket-maker did not mention
to any one what he had heard and seen.
Though, strongly suspecting that some