At this juncture, the door was opened by Rachel. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. ‘If, in truth, you are a gentleman,’ she said in a trembling tone, ‘you will move to the side that I may leave this room. ” “I had to,” she repeated. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before.
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