dared not disobey her strict orders not to
venture further. I went on, for I knew her caprices;
and once again I was admitted, when she heard
me say, calling myself by your name, that it
was Jane Scott who sought entrance. There
was no new gleam of madness in her dark
eyes. She grasped my hands nervously, and
held them fast, while she questioned me about
our journey, and what your manner had been.
Were you happy ? Had you altogether ceased
to grieve for Adelaide? Was your whole love
mine? Was there perfect unalloyed content in
our mutual affection?

"Jane," she said, with her lips close to my
ear, though she spoke in a loud shrill tone, "I
had sworn that Adelaide should never marry
Owen Scott. Partly for your sake, for your
mother said it was killing you. Partly
because it was better for her to marry my rich
nephew. Jane, I must have what I set my mind
upon, or I should die. What was Adelaide,
that I should lose my life, or worse, ten times
worse, lose my reason again for her sake? I
did it for the best, Jane. I never thought how
it was to end. It only seemed to me, if I could
hide her from one day till the next, something
would happen. But it was a long long time,
a dreadful time, till Owen came to tell us he was
going to marry you. You understand, Jane?"

"No, no!" I cried.

"It seemed so easy a thing to do, and best
for all of us. I carried her here in the night,
like the baby she is. I have never been cruel
to her, never, Jane. But the time seemed long,
long, and she was wild and cunning at first.
I only thought of a little while, and afterwards
I grew afraid. But she will not come out now,
though I try to rouse her. Go in, Jane, and
make her come out!"

Mrs. Vernon drew me across the inner
apartment to the door of a small chamber,
padded throughout, and with no opening except
into the ante-room. It had been constructed
for herself in the seasons of her most dangerous
paroxysms, and was so carefully planned that no
sound of her wild ravings could be heard, and no
glimpse of her face could be seen, through the
window which overlooked the mere. And here
lay your Adelaide asleep, wan and emaciated,
with a dimness on her golden curls, and all the
rosy tints of her beauty faded.

"She has been taking laudanum," said Mrs.
Vernon. "I gave it to her at first, when I was
compelled to be away for a long time, and now
she has a craving for it. I have never been cruel to
her, Jane. She has had everything she wanted."

You know how I came down to the library,
where you and Mr. Vernon were sitting, and
told you and Mr. Vernon all. You know how,
while Mr. Vernon bowed his grey head upon his
hands, you stretched out your arms to me, and
cried, with an exceeding bitter cry as if I could
find a remedy for you, "Help me, Jane!"

Dear, my heart fluttered towards you for a
moment, longing to be clasped in your out-
stretched arms, and pour out all my love to you,
which had ever been tongue-tied, lest you should
weary of it; but I hardened myself against the
yearning. In the great mirror on the staircase
I scarcely knew the white-faced despairing
woman, who was sweeping by, erect and stern,
and the two men with downcast heads and
lingering footsteps who were following her. You
spoke no word, either of you, but passed through
the outer apartment, with its tarnished window
and sullied disorder, where Mrs. Vernon sat
cowering in the furthest corner, and entered the
room within, where Adelaide lay asleep, but
breathing fitfully, as on the verge of waking. I
dragged myself (for I was faint) to the casement,
which I pushed open, and looked out upon the
purple hills, purple with heather-bells, where we
had thought her unknown tomb was. Up yonder
stood our home, the home we had built for
Adelaide, and which we had never yet entered;
and turning away my aching eyes from it, I
looked back again upon you, who were standing
beside her, with a depth of tender and horror-
stricken pity on your bending face.

Whether it was the fresh air from the hills, or
some mysterious influence of your presence
penetrating her sleeping senses, we cannot tell; but
while I looked, unable to turn away my eyes
from you both, her mouth quivered, and her long
eyelashes trembled, half opening and closing
again, as if too languid to bear the light, until
you touched her hands softly and timidly, and
breathed "Adelaide!" And she awoke fully,
with a sharp shrill cry, as if you were at last
come for her deliverance, and springing into
your arms, she clung to you, with her little hands
clasped round you as though they would never
unlock again; while you laid your cheek down
upon her dim dishevelled curls, and I heard
you murmur, "My darling!" Yet yonder was
our home, yours and mine, Owen; and the ring
that was on my finger—the only one I wore, I
cared so much for it—was our marriage-ring.

You turned to me, Owen, with that full,
searching gaze, eye to eye, and soul to soul,
which we could bear from one another. Adelaide
was come back from the dead to bring to us
greater sorrow than her death had brought. We
saw it all, you and I, while she was still clinging
to you with sobs and childish caresses, and
I stood aloof at the window. I knew how much
you had to say to her which no other ear might
listen to. I knew what it would be wisest and
best to do. I took Mr. Vernon's arm, and I
drew him away from the room, and I left you
and Adelaide together.

I know now that it was not long before
you came to me—only ten minutes—such a
trifle of time as one gives ungrudgingly to the
dreariest beggar on the roadside who has a
piteous tale to tell. But all the past, and all
the dreaded future being present with me, the
moments seemed endless in their immortal bitterness,
until you entered the room where I had
shut myself in alone, and coming swiftly up to
me where I stood upon the hearth, hid your face
upon my shoulder with strong sobs and tears.

"I will go away, Jane," you said at last, "by
myself for a few days, till she is gone from here.