“But if you are not Mary Harriwell, what can have become of her?” asked the nurse with sudden conviction.  “And I was sent to find her!”

“But you were directed to find me, were you not?” said Dorothy, in her quick way of helping one out in distress.  “I do not see how you could be held responsible.”

“But the girl—­if she is still at large, she may be dead or injured,” said Miss Bell, showing more and more that she did not believe Dorothy to be the person wanted in the sanitarium.  “I must ask—­did no one here know you—­or her?  Must we wait for that one doctor?”

“At any rate,” said Dorothy, “I was almost ill, and you have saved me from those dreadful people.  My folks will never blame you.”

“If there is a mistake—­I’ll run away.  I could never stand the disgrace,” and the nurse buried her face in her hands.

“It seems to me a perfectly plain case of mistaken identity, and as you knew neither me nor the girl wanted, I do not see how you could have done otherwise than to take me.  I am sure I must have looked and acted—­demented.”

“I am perfectly positive that you are not now,” declared Miss Bell.  “And no time should be lost in searching for Mary Harriwell.”

“Then I could send a message to camp?  Let them know I am safe?” and Dorothy sprang up with more emotion than she wished to show, for her every move was being watched.

“Well, the doctor will be here in the morning, and it is night now.  There would be no way of straightening this out until you are positively identified.”

“What a dreadfully lonely place Maine is!  If I were near home—­or near any place where people would know me——­” Dorothy was saying.

“Miss Bell, you are wanted at the ’phone,” interrupted an attendant, appearing at the door.  “I’ll stay until you get back.”

Miss Bell left the room, and Dorothy did not look at the young woman who had taken her place.  There was something so humiliating about being suspected of insanity!

“How do you like it here?” asked the newcomer.

“Very well,” replied Dorothy, hurt by the sarcasm apparent in the voice.

“Then why did you run away?  Didn’t we treat you all right?”

Dorothy made no reply.  The nurse came over, and glanced at her keenly.

“You look pretty fine.  Guess the tramp did you good.  They have sent for your mother.  She will be here to-morrow.  I sent the message, and I told her your mind had cleared up.  I hope I made no mistake.”

“I hope not,” replied Dorothy, feeling that it was useless to try to explain.  “I shall be glad—­when she comes.”

“I’m the night attendant.  I will be here in an hour to give you your bath,” said the young woman.

“I am perfectly capable of taking my own bath,” replied Dorothy, with indignation.

“Perhaps; but we don’t trust patients in the water alone.  I hope you won’t give me any trouble.  I’m tired to death to-night.”