home!"

Ormiston half led, half lifted her up the stairs.

"You are almost there, dear lady--see, it is close at hand!"

She half lifted her languid eyes, but did not speak. Leaning panting on
his arm, he drew her gently on until they reached her door. It was still
unfastened. Prudence had kept her word, and not gone near it; and he
opened it, and helped her in.

"Where now?" he asked.

"Up stairs," she said, feebly. "I want to go to my own room."

Ormiston knew where that was, and assisted her there as tenderly as he
could have done La Masque herself. He paused on the threshold; for the
room was dark.

"There is a lamp and a tinder-box on the mantel," said the faint, sweet
voice, "if you will only please to find them."

Ormiston crowed the room--fortunately he knew the latitude of the place
--and moving his hand with gingerly precaution along the mantel-shelf,
lest he should upset any of the gimcracks thereon, soon obtained the
articles named, and struck a light. The lady was leaning wearily against
the door-post, but now she came forward, and dropped exhausted into the
downy pillows of a lounge.

"Is there anything I can do for you, madame?" began Ormiston, with as
solicitous an air as though he had been her father. "A glass of wine
would be of use to you, I think, and then, if you wish, I will go for a
doctor."

"You are very kind. You will find wine and glasses in the room opposite
this, and I feel so faint that I think you had better bring me some."

Ormiston moved across the passage, like the good, obedient young man
that he was, filled a glass of Burgundy, and as he was returning with
it, was startled by a cry from the lady that nearly made him drop and
shiver it on the floor.

"What under heaven has come to her now?" he thought, hastening in,
wondering how she could possibly have come to grief since he left her.

She was sitting upright on the sofa, her dress palled down off her
shoulder where the plague-spot had been, and which, to his amazement, he
saw now pure and stainless, and free from every loathsome trace.

"You are cured of the plague!" was all he could say.

"Thank God!" she exclaimed, fervently clasping her hands. "But oh! how
can it have happened? It must be a miracle!"

"No, it was your plunge into the river; I have heard of one or two such
cases before, and if ever I take it," said Ormiston, half laughing, half
shuddering, "my first rush shall be for old Father Thames. Here, drin