He was absent fifteen or twenty minutes, and when he returned it was in the company of a man who carried a hundredweight of coals upon his shoulders. Mr. Moss himself was loaded; under his armpits two bundles of wood; in one hand a loaf of bread, tea, and butter; in his other hand a can of milk. "God bless you, sir!" said the woman who was assisting Dr. Spenlove. Mr. Moss knelt again before the grate, and made a fire. Kettle in hand he searched for water. "You will find some in my room, sir," said the woman. Mrs. Turner and her babe were now in bed, the child still craving for food, the mother still unconscious, but breathing heavily. The fire lit, and the kettle on, Mr. Moss put on his fur overcoat, whispered a good-night to Dr. Spenlove, received a grateful pressure of the hand in reply, slipped out of the house, and took his way home, humming: "O del ciel angeli immortal, Deh mi guidate con voi lassù! Dio giusto, a te m'abbandono, Buon Dio m'accorda il tuo perdono!" He looked at his hands, which were black from contact with the coals. "What will Mrs. Moss say?" he murmured. CHAPTER VII. THE RESULT OF DR. SPENLOVE'S MISSION. An hour after Mr. Moss' departure Mrs. Turner opened her eyes. It was a moment for which Dr. Spenlove had anxiously waited. He had satisfied himself that both of his patients were in a fair way of recovery, and thus far his heart was relieved. The woman who had assisted him had also taken her departure after having given the babe some warm milk. Her hunger appeased, the little one was sleeping calmly and peacefully by her mother's side. The room was now warm and cheerful. A bright fire was blazing, the kettle was simmering, and a pot of hot tea was standing on the hearth. Mrs. Turner gazed around in bewilderment. The one candle in the room but dimly lighted it up, and the flickering flames of the fire threw fantastic shadows on walls and ceiling, but so bright was the blaze that there was nothing distressful in these shadowy phantasmagoria. At a little distance from the bed stood Dr. Spenlove, his pale face turned to the waking woman. She looked at him long and steadily, and did not answer him when he smiled encouragingly at her and spoke a few gentle words. She passed her hand over the form of her sleeping child, and then across her forehead, in the effort to recall what had passed. But her mind was confused; bewildering images of the stages of her desperate resolve presented themselves--blinding snow, shrieking wind, the sea which she had not reached, the phantoms she had conjured up when her senses were deserting her in the white streets. "Am I alive?" she murmured. "Happily, dear Mrs. Turner," said Dr. Spenlove. "You are in your own room, and you will soon be well." "Who brought me here?" "I and a good friend I was fortunate enough to meet when I was seeking you." "Why did you seek me?" "To save you." "To save me! You knew, then----" She paused.