I was bathing his forehead and temples with vinegar and water to relieve the heat and pain in his head, he observed, after looking earnestly upon me for some minutes—
"I have such strange fancies—I can't get rid of them, and they won't let me rest; and the most singular and pertinacious of them all, is your face and voice; they seem just like hers. I could swear at this moment, that she was by my side."
"She is," said I.
"That seems comfortable," continued he, without noticing my words; "and while you do it, the other fancies fade away—but this only strengthens. Go on—go on, till it vanishes too. I can't stand such a mania as this; it would kill me!"
"It never will vanish," said I distinctly, "for it is the truth."
"The truth!" he cried, starting as if an asp had stung him. "You don't mean to say that you are really she!"
