“I did not tell the captain that she was Mrs. Strangemore,” continued the doctor. “Some inward consciousness warned me not to do so. But I told him that she was a friend of my wife, and that I would be glad if I could bring her home to you. He was very kind. I did all that I could to resuscitate her, and having restored her to partial animation, I put her in the little boat which he kindly placed at my disposal and myself rowed her to Baltimore to give her the tender care of her old friend. I felt sure that something very dreadful must have driven her from Selwyn Heights, and I did not think it would be wise to take her back there until we knew more.” “You did right, but, oh, Arthur, it is a three hours row from Selwyn Heights to Baltimore. How weary you must be!” she cried. He held up his blistered palms with a smile. “It was hard work,” he said. “My hands are unused to the oar since my college days. But I did not mind it for the sake of the girl you loved so well, Minnie!” “You darling!” she exclaimed. * * * * * Nina’s slumber was a long and deep one. She had scarcely slept an hour since her husband’s home-coming, and now since her reckless attempt at suicide exhausted nature could bear no more. Wearily, heavily, almost like one in a state of coma, she lay and slumbered, the pale, pale face, with the dark lashes lying heavily against her cheeks, looking death-like in its wanness, while the breath was scarcely perceptible as it fluttered over her lips. The doctor and his wife stole in and out now and then to look at her, but they were careful not to disturb her, and the little one was carried to a distant room that its cries might not awake her. Doctor Fielding hoped much from that long, saving sleep. “She will awaken rested and refreshed, and although very weak from her long, unbroken fast, she will be in a better frame of mind, and I have no doubt that she will repent of the desperate deed she attempted last night,” he said. Meanwhile the chilly dawn had broken and one of the most inclement days of blustering March had set in. It rained, hailed, snowed, by turns, and the cold was intense. CHAPTER XXI. “MAD FROM LIFE’S HISTORY.” The short, wintry day passed away. Mrs. Fielding, intent on the household tasks which she accomplished without the aid of a servant, was obliged to leave her patient alone many times, but on each occasion when she tip-toed back Nina still lay wrapped in that deep, lethargic sleep. “I almost wish she would awaken--her sleep seems almost as deep as death,” murmured the little woman over and over to herself. But when Nina wakened at last she was all alone in the pretty cheerful chamber, with its nameless air of comfort and refinement. The lamp burned dimly under its clear, white shade, the fire leaped and glowed in the grate. Nina lay still for some moments gazing around her with large, dark, wondering eyes.