Parting

It was late the next morning, ere Nina and Edith awoke from that
long sleep, which proved so refreshing to the latter, stilling her
throbbing pulse, cooling her feverish brow, and subduing the wild
look of her eyes, which had in them the clear light of reason.
Edith was better. She would live, the physician said, feeling a
glow of gratified vanity as he thought how that last dose of
medicine, given as an experiment, and about which he had been so
doubtful, had really saved her life. She would have died without
it, he knew, just as Mrs. Matson, who inclined to homoeopathic
principles, knew her patient would have died if she had not slily
thrown it in the fire, substituting in its stead sweetened water
and pills of bread.

Victor and Nina, too, had their theory with regard to the real
cause of Edith's convalescence, but each kept his own counsel,
Victor saying to Richard when questioned as to whether he had read
the paper or not, "No, Miss Nina keeps it clutched tightly in her hand, as if
suspecting my design."

In the course of the day, however, Nina relaxed her vigilance, and
Victor, who was sent up stairs with wood, saw the important
document lying upon the hearth rug, where Nina had unconsciously
dropped it.

"It's safer with me," he thought, and picking it up, he carried it
to his own apartment, locking it in his trunk where he knew no
curious eyes would ever find it.