would have died. For three long weeks I fought with death at her
bedside, and in the end I conquered. The fever left her, and thanks
to my treatment, there was no single scar upon her lovely face. During
eight days her mind wandered without ceasing, and it was then I learned
how deep and perfect was her love for me. For all this while she
did nothing but rave of me, and the secret terror of her heart was
disclosed--that I should cease to care for her, that her beauty and love
might pall upon me so that I should leave her, that 'the flower maid,'
for so she named Lily, who dwelt across the sea should draw me back to
her by magic; this was the burden of her madness. At length her senses
returned and she spoke, saying:

'How long have I lain ill, husband?'

I told her and she said, 'And have you nursed me all this while, and
through so foul a sickness?'

'Yes, Otomie, I have tended you.'

'What have I done that you should be so good to me?' she murmured. Then
some dreadful thought seemed to strike her, for she moaned as though in
pain, and said, 'A mirror! Swift, bring me a mirror!'

I gave her one, and rising on her arm, eagerly she scanned her face in
the dim light of the shadowed room, then let the plate of burnished gold
fall, and sank back with a faint and happy cry:

'I feared,' she said, 'I feared that I had become hideous as those are
whom the pestilence has smitten, and that you would cease to love me,
than which it had been better to die.'