flung it over her head and shoulders--and left the cottage.

She ran down to the beach at top speed, as if she couldn't get there
fast enough.

"And now I'm just going to yell and go crazy as much as ever I like!"
panted Helena to the rollers.

Instead, she sat down with her back to a rock, and opened her cigarette
case. She took out a cigarette, extracted a match from the match box,
lighted the match--and flung both cigarette and match from her.

"I don't want to be crazy--I don't know what I want," said Helena
petulantly. Her chin went into her hands, and she stared wide-eyed at
the breaking surf. "I wonder what it all means?" she murmured, with a
mirthless little laugh.

Her thoughts began to run riot. What _did_ it all mean? What was this
faith? There was, there _must_ be something in it. There was the Holmes
boy--suppose it _was_ only some nervous disorder--well, something had
risen superior to whatever it was and had _cured_ him. There was Naida
Thornton--true, she was ill again--her heart, Mr. Thornton had said--but
she could still walk, a thing she had not been able to do for a long
time until she came to Needley.

Helena laughed again--oh, it was a good game! The Doc had made no
mistake about that--but then, when it came to planting anything the Doc
rarely did make a mistake. Fancy fifty thousand dollars in one haul!
_Fifty thousand in one haul!_ The bank had sent her a passbook with that
amount to her credit. And that was only the beginning--hardly anybody