Melinda knew why he was going, and when at last they were on the way, the sight of his honest-speaking face, glowing all over with eagerness and joyful anticipations, kept her own spirits up, and made what she so greatly hoped for seem absolutely certain.  It was morning when they arrived, and were driven rapidly through the streets toward home.  The house seemed very quiet; every window and shutter, so far as they could see, was closed, and both experienced a terrible fear lest “the strange woman” was gone.  They could not wait for Hannah to open the door, and so they went round to the basement, surprising Mrs. Dobson as she bent over the fire, stirring the basin of gruel she was preparing for her patient.  “The strange woman” was not gone.  She was raving mad, Mrs. Dobson said, and talked the queerest things.  “I’ve had the doctor, just as I knew you would have done, had you been here,” she said, “and he pronounced it brain fever, brought on by fatigue, and some great excitement or worriment.  ’Pears like she thought she was divorced, or somebody was divorced, for she was talking about it, and showing the ring on her fourth finger.  I hope Governor Markham won’t mind it.  ’Twas none of my doings.  She went there herself, and I first found her in the bed in that room where nobody ever slept—­the bride’s room, I call it, you know.”

“Is she there?” Melinda asked, in amazement, while Andy, who had been standing near the door which led up to the next floor, disappeared up the stairs, leaving the women alone.

He knew the way to the room designated, and went hurrying on until he reached the door, and there he paused, his flesh creeping with the intensity of his excitement, and his whole being pervaded with a crushing sense of eager expectancy.  He had not put into words what or whom he expected to find on the other side of the door he hardly dared to open.  He only knew he should be terribly disappointed if his conjectures proved wrong, and a smothered prayer rose to his lips, “God grant it may be the she I mean.”

The she he meant was sleeping now.  The brown head which rolled so restlessly all night was lying quietly upon the pillows, the burning cheek resting upon one hand, and the mass of long, bright hair tucked back under one of Mrs. Dobson’s own nightcaps, that lady having sought in vain for such an article among her mistress’ wardrobe.  She did not hear Andy as he stepped softly across the floor to the bedside.  Bending cautiously above her, he hesitated a moment, while a great throb of disappointment ran through his veins.  Surely that was not Ethie, with the hollow cheeks and the disfiguring frill around her face, giving her more the look of the new and stylish nurse Melinda had got from Chicago—­the woman who wore a cap in place of a bonnet, and jabbered half the time in some foreign tongue, which Melinda said was French.  The room was very dark, and Andy pushed back a blind, letting in such a flood of light that the sleeper started, and moaned, and turned herself upon the pillow, while with a gasping, sobbing cry, Andy fell upon his knees, and with clasped hands and streaming eyes, exclaimed: