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."