Ruthven is physically in perfect health, but yesterday we noted a
rather startling change in her mental condition. There were, during the
day, intervals that seemed perfectly lucid. Once she spoke of Miss Bond
as 'the other nurse,' as though she realised something of the conditions
surrounding her. Once, too, she seemed astonished when I brought her a
doll, and asked me:' Is there a child here? Or is it for a charity
bazaar?'
"Later I found her writing a letter at my desk. She left it unfinished
when she went to drive--a mere scrap. I thought it best to enclose it,
which I do, herewith."
The enclosure he opened:
"Phil, dear, though I have been very ill I know you are my own husband.
All the rest was only a child's dream of terror--"
And that was all--only this scrap, firmly written in the easy flowing
hand he knew so well. He studied it for a moment or two, then resumed
Miss Casson's letter:
"A man stopped our sleigh yesterday, asking if he was not speaking to
Mrs.
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