"Mary Brown, you have been deceiving me with your kind face and friendly talk. This is not a hospital for the sick. It is a private mad-house--is it not?"

"Well, it is for people who are sick in their heads," admitted Mary.

"You mean for people who are insane," said she, holding tightly to the woman's arm.

Mary Brown nodded acquiescence.

Lily was silent a moment, lost in painful thought. At length she said, sadly:

"I hope you do not think that I am insane, Mary Brown?"

"Oh! dear, no, miss," said Mary, in her placid tone. "Of course not."

"But you _do_ believe it. I can see that plainly," cried Lily, in an anguished tone. "You have been humoring and petting me, taking me for some insane creature. But I a.s.sure you I am not. I am perfectly sane, though I have suffered cruelty and injustice enough to have driven me mad long ago. I have been brought here by two wicked men to be made a prisoner because I will not marry a man whom I hate."

"You poor, injured dear," said the good nurse, affecting to believe the young girl's story, though in her heart she set it down simply as one of the vagaries of madness.

"You do not believe me," cried Lily, pa.s.sionately. "Oh! G.o.d, is this crowning insult to be added to my sufferings? Must they represent me as mad, and thus drive me into insanity indeed?"

The attendant began to think that her beautiful and gentle patient was becoming violent. She gently but forcibly released her arms from Lily's clasp, and laid the moaning girl back on her pillow.

"My dear," she said, "you must not excite yourself. You look too ill to stand agitation. I must go now and help Doctor Heath to manage that poor shrieking maniac in the next room. Try and go to sleep, my pretty dear."

She drew the warm covers up carefully over the patient, brushed back the disordered golden hair with a coa.r.s.e but kindly hand, extinguished the light, and, taking up the tray of dishes, went out, carefully locking the door after her.

In the hall she encountered Doctor Heath about entering the room of the shrieking patient. He paused at sight of her.

"How is your new patient?" he inquired, abruptly.

"A little excited at present, sir. She appeared very quiet and sensible at first, but after the violent patient began his shrieks she became violent and wild, sir!"

"Did she tell you her name?" he inquired.

Mary Brown replied in the negative.

"Her case is rather peculiar," said Doctor Heath. "She is the victim of a strange hallucination. A wealthy young lady of New York committed suicide last summer under very romantic circ.u.mstances. This young person imagines herself to be the identical young lady who killed herself, and a.s.serts that she was resurrected by a physician and his friend, who detain her in durance vile because the latter wishes to marry her. She will tell you her story, of course. Do not contradict her, but gently humor her. She will not give you much trouble, I think, as it is a mere case of melancholy madness. The young lady she personates was named Miss Lawrence. Be particular and call her by that name, Mary."

"I will, sir," said Mary, pa.s.sing on.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

Mrs. Vance read in the daily papers an account on the inquest that had been held over the dead bodies of her two victims.

She was surprised and troubled at first because her scheme for burning the house down and destroying the bodies had failed, but as she saw that no clew to the perpetrator of the poisoning had been discovered, her courage rose in proportion.

"I am free now," she thought, with a guilty thrill of triumph. "The two old harpies who preyed upon me are dead, and their secret with them. No one will ever discover my agency in their death. Suspicion would never dream of fastening upon me. Who would believe that these white hands could be stained with crime?"

She held them up, admiring their delicate whiteness and the costly rings that glittered upon them, then went to the mirror and looked at her handsome reflection.

"I am beautiful," she said to herself with a proud smile. "There is no reason why I should not win Lancelot Darling. A woman can marry whom she will when she is gifted with beauty and grace like mine. And I will yet be Lancelot Darling's wife. I solemnly swear that I will!"

In the exuberance of her triumph and her pride in herself, she ordered the carriage and went out to spend the money she had rescued from Peter and Haidee in some new feminine adornment wherewith to deck her beauty for the eyes of the obdurate young millionaire.

Time flew past and brought the cold and freezing days of November. The latter part of it was exceedingly cold, and snow covered the ground with a thick, white crust.

Lancelot Darling came into the drawing-room one day where Ada and the beautiful widow sat by the glowing fire, Mrs. Vance busy as usual with some trifle of fancy work, and Ada yawning over the latest novel. They welcomed him without surprise or formality, for he had fallen into a habit of dropping in familiarly and with the freedom of a brother. Mrs.

Vance, after the first few weeks of affected shyness and prudence, had resumed her old frank relations with Lance, though but feebly seconded by that young man, who had not recovered from the shock of her unwomanly avowal of love for himself.

"Well, Ada, how does the novel please you?" he inquired, looking at the book that she had laid aside.

"Either the author is very dull, or I am out of spirits," she returned, smiling, "for I have failed to become interested in the woes of the heroine, this morning. Have you read it, Lance?"

"Oh, yes, a week ago," he answered, carelessly. "I found it readable and interesting. I dare say you are in fault to-day, not the author. You are out of tune."

"Perhaps so," said Ada, "but what am I to do about it? Can you suggest a remedy?"

"The sleighing is very fine just now," he returned. "It thrills one very pleasurably. Have you tried it?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Vance and myself have been out twice with papa this week."

"By daylight?" he queried.

"Yes, by daylight," she answered.

"The latest sensation, however, is sleigh-riding by moonlight," rejoined Lance. "There is a full moon, you know, and the nights are superb.

Parties go out to Dabney's hotel--it is far out on the suburbs--and have hot coffee and oysters by way of refreshment, you know--then they return to the city, getting home near midnight usually. Altogether it is very exhilarating."

"You speak from experience, I presume?" said Ada.

"Yes. I tried it myself last night, being induced thereto by the glowing representations of two young friends of mine. I found the drive quite as bracing and delightful as they described it. I should be tempted to try it again to-night if I could persuade you, Ada, and Mrs. Vance to accompany me."

"Why, that would be delightful," said Ada, clapping her hands, with the pleasure of a child over a new toy. "I think that is just what I am needing--a new sensation."

"You consent, then?" said he, smiling at her pretty enthusiasm.

"Oh, yes, if Mrs. Vance will go, too. Will you do so?" inquired she, turning to the lady, who had as yet taken no part in the conversation.

"Do you wish to go very much?" inquired she, looking up from her work with a very pleasant smile.

"I think I should enjoy it very much."

"I don't know that I care for it very much," said the widow, with a light sigh; "but I will go to please you, Ada."

"It is settled then," said Lance. "We will go, and I think I can promise you both a very enjoyable evening."