the patient had
sat up in bed for quarter of an hour. Promptly Ah Cum wired the
information to O'Higgins in Hong-Kong. The detective reckoned that
his quarry would be up in ten days more.

To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision
a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. Her fanciful
imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a
wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. The doctor's lessons,
perhaps delivered with too much serious emphasis, had destroyed
that buoyant confidence in her ability to take care of herself.

Between Canton and Hartford two giants had risen, invisible but
menacing--Fear and Doubt. The unknown, previously so attractive,
now presented another face--blank. The doctor had not heard from
his people. She was reasonably certain why. They did not want her.

Thus, all her interest in life began to centre upon the patient,
who was apparently quite as anchorless as she was. Sometimes a
whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond
the request for a drink of water. Again, he would ask a few
questions, and Ruth would answer them. He would repeat them
innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers.

"What is your name?"

"Ruth."

"Ruth what?"

"Enschede; Ruth Enschede."

"En-shad-ay. You are French?"

"No. Dutch; Pennsylvania Dutch."

And then his interest would cease. Perhaps an hour later he would
begin again.

At other times he seemed to have regained the normal completely. He
would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her
some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her
with astonishing clearness. Then suddenly the curtain would fall.

"What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony. "An
American. Enschede--that's a queer name."

"I'm a queer girl," she replied with a smile.

Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the
disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself.

"I've been wondering, until this morning, if you were real."

"I've been wondering, too."

"Are you a real nurse?"

"Yes."

"Professional?"

"Why do you wish to know?"

"Professional nurses wear a sort of uniform."

"While I look as if I had stepped out of the family album?"

He frowned perplexedly. "Where did I hear that before?"

"Perhaps that first day, in the water-clock tower."

"I imagine I've been in a kind of trance."

"And now yo