Angela's supposition proved correct. By night Ida had a high fever, and the pains in her limbs had grown very much worse. Doctor Stone was sent for, and pronounced her sickening with scarletina. Soon after he had made his visit Ida fell asleep, and dozed at intervals all night. At about eight o'clock she woke from a longer nap than usual. The sun was shining in between the slats of the closed blinds, but the house seemed strangely still. She listened intently, but could hear no one stirring, no sound of voices; only the sullen roar of the mighty ocean. Her throat was parched; her blood seemed to course through her veins like liquid fire. "Oh, if I only had a drink of water; how good it would feel," she said aloud. As she spoke, a portly figure rose slowly from a seat by one of the windows. It was Old Dinah, the black cook Mrs. Leverton employed every summer. "Dinah'll get yo' the water, honey," she said. "Dinah!" exclaimed Ida. "Why, what are you doing up here?" "I's nursin' yo', honey, de bes' I knows how. De doctor, he done tole me de directions." "But where are Angela and Mrs. Leverton, and why is the house so still?" "Dey's all gone, my lamb. Dey cl'ared outer heah early dis mawnin'. Miss Angela, she didn't give her mammy no res' after she done knowed yo' had de fever. Dey lef' me ter take keer ob yo' till yo' aunt git heah. Dey done sent er telegraph fo' her las' ebenin'." Ida's first feeling at finding herself thus deserted was one of poignant humiliation and pain, but like balm to her wounded spirit came the thought that Aunt Patty would soon be with her--the dear Aunt Patty whom she had never known how to value until lately. Oh, how she longed to see that kind face, to feel those strong, tender arms about her; to bear the gentle loving voice which she had never heard utter one unkind or impatient word to any one! "I will tell her how sorry I am that I ever hurt and grieved her," thought Ida. "I will never again be too proud and stubborn to confess my faults, and ask pardon of those that love me." But when Aunt Patty arrived at Rocky Beach--having travelled as fast as steam and stage could bring her--Ida was delirious, and did not recognize her. The tears coursed down the old woman's cheeks as she stood beside the bed, watching the restless movements of the pretty young head, shorn of all its golden locks; listening to the whispering voice as it babbled incoherently of Cynthia, the farm, Mrs. Lennox, Angela, and a hundred other persons and things. "She will require the most careful and assiduous nursing," said the doctor. "Only that can pull her safely through." "She shall have it," answered Aunt Patty. "I'll take her back as well as ever to the old farm six weeks from now, please God." The crisis of the fever came on the ninth day. Dr. Stone came early, and staid until midnight. Then he left Ida sleeping quietly, the flush gone from her thin cheeks, her breath coming regularly.