At Broadway the lights of the moving cars interchanged like the colors of a kaleidoscope, swimming amid the falling rain before her eyes. At Sixth Avenue she steadied herself with sudden resolve, beginning that last long block with a kind of delirious joy. To stimulate her faltering feet she glanced back over the terrible distance that she had come, and she found that the black incline of blocks now sloped in the opposite direction. She seemed to have descended a hillside of slate. Good God! How had she lived? Her own door came at last, and she crawled up the slippery steps, steadying herself against the stone balustrade. The door was unlatched. She opened it and went inside. At the first suffusion of warmth and rest her waning thoughts flickered into life. Then she raised her eyes and uttered a shriek of joy. "Anthony!" He was standing on the threshold of the drawing-room, and, as she cried out, he caught her in his arms. "My beloved, what is it? What does it mean?" But as he held her he felt the wet of her clothing, and he lifted her and carried her to the fire. "Mariana, what does it mean?" He was kneeling beside her, unfastening her shoes with nervous fingers. She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I went out in the rain," she said. "I don't know why; I have forgotten. I believe I thought it was all a mistake. The blocks were very long." Then she clung to him, sobbing. "Don't let me die!" she cried--"don't let me die!" He raised her in his arms, and, crossing to the bell, rang it hastily. Then he went into the hall and up-stairs. On the landing he met the maid. "Where is Mrs. Gore's room?" he asked, and, entering, laid her upon the hearth-rug. "She is ill," he went on. "She must be got to bed and warmed. Put mustard-plasters to her chest and rub her feet. I will get the doctor." He left the room, and Miss Ramsey came in, her eyes red and her small hands trembling. They took off her wet things, while she lay faint and still, a tinge of blueness rising to her face and to her fallen eyelids. Suddenly she spoke. "Give me the medicine on the mantel," she said--"quick!" It was tincture of digitalis. Miss Ramsey measured out the drops and gave them to her. After she had swallowed them the color in her face became more natural and her breathing less labored. Miss Ramsey was applying a mustard-plaster to her chest, while the maid rubbed her cold, white feet, which lay like plaster casts in the large, red hands. Mariana looked at them wistfully. "I have done foolish things all my life," she said, "and this is the most foolish of all." "What, dear?" asked Miss Ramsey, but she did not answer. When Anthony came in, followed by the doctor, she was lying propped up among the pillows, with soft white blankets heaped over her. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing quietly. Salvers took her hand and bent his ear to her chest. "She must be stimulated," he said. "You say she has already taken digitalis--yes?"