d advantages. The
letter case had a spot on the back; she turned it over and found it
there. Letter case--the thought was an aspiration. With trembling
eagerness she clutched at the papers in the side pocket. Yes, there were
letters. She read the address, "Mrs. Martin Marteen"--yes, that was
herself. How strange! She had forgotten. The address was a steamer--that
seemed possible. There was a journey, a long journey--she vaguely
recalled that. But why? Where? She read the notes eagerly; casual _bon
voyage_ and good wishes; letters referring to books, flowers or bonbons.
The signatures were all familiar, but no corresponding image rose in her
brain. The last she read gave her a distinct feeling of affection, of
admiration, though the signature "M.G." meant nothing. She reread the
few scrawled sentences with a longing that frightened her. Who was
M.G.--that her bound and gagged mentality cried out for? She felt if she
could only reach that mysterious identity all would be well. M.G. would
bring everything right.

Suddenly the idea of insanity crossed her mind. She sat down abruptly.
The room began to sway; her head ached as if the blows of a hammer were
descending on her brow. She clutched the iron foottrail to keep from
being tossed from the heaving, rocking bed. The ceiling seemed to lower
and crush her. Then an enormous hand and arm entered at the window and
turned off the sun which was burning at the end of a gas jet in the
room. All was dark.

She recovered consciousness slowly, aware of immeasurable weakness. She
lay very still, lying, as it were, within her body. She felt that should
she require that weary body to do anything it must refuse. Through her
half-closed lids she saw the woman who had first aroused her enter the
room with a tray.

"Dear, dear!" she heard her say. "You must cover up. Don't lie on the
outside of the bed; get under the covers."

To Mrs. Marteen's intense inner surprise, the weary body obeyed,
crawling feebly beneath the sheets. She had not realized that she had
lain where she had fainted, at the foot of the bed.

"Now take some tea," the controlling will ordered; "you'll feel better;
and a bit of dry toast. Sick headaches are awful, I know, and tea's the
best thing."

Once more the body obeyed, and sat up and drank the steaming cup to the
great comfort of the inner being. So reviving was its influence that
Mrs. Marteen decided to try her own will and speak.

"Thank you--" her lips s