I felt the air change, and become keen.

Raising blind and curtain, I looked out, and saw in the stars the keen sparkle of a sharp frost.
Turning away, the object that met my eyes was Miss Marchmont awake, lifting her head from the pillow, and regarding me with unusual earnestness.
"Is it a fine night ?" she asked.
I replied in the affirmative.
"I thought so," she said; "for I feel so strong, so well.

Raise me.

I feel young to-night," she continued: "young, light-hearted, and happy.
What if my complaint be about to take a turn, and I am yet destined to enjoy health?
It would be a miracle!" "And these are not the days of miracles," I thought to myself, and wondered to hear her talk so.

She went on directing her conversation to the past, and seeming to recall its incidents, scenes, and personages, with singular vividness.
"I love Memory to-night," she said: "I prize her as my best friend.