night she was her old, bright self, happy and serene in the new
motherhood that had come to her. The only thing strange in her
was her calm acceptance of the event. She never wondered who or
whose the child might be--never seemed to fear that he would be
taken from her; and she gave him our dream-child's name.

At last, when a full week had passed, I went, in my bewilderment,
to our old doctor.

"A most extraordinary thing," he said thoughtfully. "The child,
as you say, must belong to the Spruce Cove people. Yet it is an
almost unbelievable thing that there has been no search or
inquiry after him. Probably there is some simple explanation of
the mystery, however. I advise you to go over to the Cove and
inquire. When you find the parents or guardians of the child,
ask them to allow you to keep it for a time. It may prove your
wife's salvation. I have known such cases. Evidently on that
night the crisis of her mental disorder was reached. A little
thing might have sufficed to turn her feet either way--back to
reason and sanity, or into deeper darkness. It is my belief that
the former has occurred, and that, if she is left in undisturbed
possession of this child for a time, she will recover
completely."

I drove around the harbor that day with a lighter heart than I
had hoped ever to possess again. When I reached Spruce Cove the
first person I met was old Abel Blair. I asked him if any child
were missing from the Cove or along shore. He looked at me in
surprise, shook his head, and said he had not heard of any. I
told him as much of the tale as was necessary, leaving him to