When the doctor was gone, his wife again came to his bedside, and seeing that he had not yet sunk back quite into his former lethargic state, she laid her hand gently on his without speaking.
He did not move, but merely raised his languid eyes to her face.
Something there, however, seemed to fix them, and he lay looking at her with a steady intent gaze, as if trying to recognise her.
"Christian," she said very softly, with a trembling voice, "do you remember me ?" "I remember," he answered in a half whisper, "not you, but something like you." "I am changed since then," she went on; "we are both changed, but we shall be together again now." He was still watching her, and there seemed to be a clearer consciousness in his gaze.
"Are you Mary ?" he asked after a moment.
"I am Mary, your wife," she answered.
"There was something else," he went on, slowly groping as it were for broken memories of the past.

"There was another." "Our child ?" she asked, "Do you remember her ?" "Yes; is she here ?" "No.

Would you like to see her ?" "No matter.

I lost you.

Where have you been ?" "Near here.