in low, sweet tones some of the hymns she had learned in her old home in Mississippi. One day she sang a few verses of the hymn beginning with the words—
"Drooping souls no longer grieve,
Heaven is propitious;
If on Christ you do believe,
You will find Him precious."
"That," said he, looking earnestly into Iola's face, "was my mother's hymn. I have not heard it for years. Where did you learn it?"
Iola gazed inquiringly upon the face of her patient, and saw, by his clear gaze and the expression of his face, that his reason had returned.
"In my home, in Mississippi, from my own dear mother," was Iola's reply.
"Do you know where she learned it?" asked Robert.
"When she was a little girl she heard her mother sing it. Years after, a Methodist preacher came to our house, sang this hymn, and left the book behind him. My father was a Catholic, but my mother never went to any church. I did not understand it then, but I do now. We used to sing together, and read the Bible when we were alone."
"Do you remember where she came from, and who was her mother?" asked Robert, anxiously.
"My dear friend, you must be quiet. The fever has left you, but I will not answer for the consequences if you get excited."
Robert lay quiet and thoughtful for awhile and, seeing he was wakeful, Iola said, "Have you any friends to whom you would like to send a letter?"
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