What then was it?
It was herself! Margaret was changing! At times during the past few days I had hardly known her as the same girl whom I had met at the picnic, and whose vigils I had shared in the sick-room of her father.

Then, even in her moments of greatest sorrow or fright or anxiety, she was all life and thought and keenness.

Now she was generally distraite, and at times in a sort of negative condition as though her mind--her very being--was not present.

At such moments she would have full possession of observation and memory.

She would know and remember all that was going on, and had gone on around her; but her coming back to her old self had to me something the sensation of a new person coming into the room.