ed not follow him through the course of his dreadful labours,
with which most people will have some acquaintance. Hopeless as they
seemed, he continued them for hour after hour.

Meanwhile the assistant and some helpers were doing the same service
for Geoffrey Bingham, the doctor himself, a thin clever-looking man,
occasionally stepping across the passage to direct them and see how
things were getting on. Now, although Geoffrey had been in the water the
longer, his was by far the better case, for when he was immersed he
was already insensible, and a person in this condition is very hard
to drown. It is your struggling, fighting, breathing creature who is
soonest made an end of in deep waters. Therefore it came to pass that
when the scrubbing with hot cloths and the artificial respiration had
gone on for somewhere about twenty minutes, Geoffrey suddenly crooked
a finger. The doctor's assistant, a buoyant youth fresh from the
hospitals, gave a yell of exultation, and scrubbed and pushed away with
ever-increasing energy. Presently the subject coughed, and a minute
later, as the agony of returning life made itself felt, he swore most
heartily.

"He's all right now!" called the assistant to his employer. "He's
swearing beautifully."

Dr. Chambers, pursuing his melancholy and unpromising task in the
other room, smiled sadly, and called to the assistant to continue the
treatment, which he did with much vigour.

Presently Geoffrey came partially to life, still suffering torments. The
first thing he grew aware of was that a tall elegant woman was standing
over him, looking at him with a half puzzled and half horrified air.
Vaguely he wondered who it might be. The tall form and cold handsome
face were so familiar to him, and yet he could not recall the name.
It was not till she spoke that his numbed brain realized that he was
looking on his own wife.

"Well, dear," she said, "I am so glad that you are better. You
frightened me out of my wits. I thought you were drowned."

"Thank you, Honoria," he said faintly, and then groaned as a fresh
attack of tingling pain shook him through and through.

"I hope nobody said anything to Effie," Geoffrey said presently.

"Yes, the child would not go to bed because you were not back, and when
the policeman came she heard him tell Mrs. Jones that you were drowned,
and she has been almost in a fit ever since. They had to hold her to
prevent her from running here."

Geoffrey's white fac