"Sure as sure, master. Jack the Giant Killer couldn't remove them 'ere bars."

"Because," said Dr. Oleander, "she is quite capable, in her mad fits, of precipitating herself out of the window and breaking her neck. And be careful, Sally, you cut up her food when you take it to her. Don't bring her any knives or forks."

"I said I wouldn't go near her," said old Sally, facing him resolutely; "and I won't! And what's more, Peter won't! And if you fetches mad-women here, Doctor Guy, you've got to 'tend onto 'em yourself, sir. I won't be 'sa.s.synated in my old age by crazy lunatics; and no more my old man won't, neither. There now!"

Sally finished with a shower of resolute nods. Dr. Oleander knew her a great deal too well to remonstrate. When Sally "put her foot down" all the powers of earth and Hades couldn't put it up again.

"You will be here yourself to-morrow, Guy," said his mother, decisively.

"Wait upon her yourself, then."

"But I must return to New York to-morrow afternoon."

"Very well; get an attendant for your crazy patient and send her down.

If the young lady's friends are as wealthy as you say, they will surely let her have a keeper."

"They will let her have a dozen if necessary; that is not the question."

"What, then?"

"Have you accommodation for another in this old barn? Can you put up with the trouble?"

"We'll endeavor to do so for your sake. It is easier to put up with another person in the house than be at the beck and call of a lunatic ourselves. Send one from New York capable of taking care of your crazy young lady, and Sally and I will take care of her."

"Thanks! And meantime?"

"Meantime, I will wait upon her myself--if you will a.s.sure me she will not be violent."

"I think I can. She is only violent with me, poor soul. She has got an idea into her weak, deranged little head that she is as sane as you or I, and that I have carried her off by force and keep her prisoner here.

She goes raving mad at sight of me, but with you she may probably be cool enough. She will tell you a piteous story of how she has been entrapped and carried off from home, if you will listen to her. You had better not; it only encourages her unfortunate delusion."

Mrs. Oleander shrugged her broad shoulders. She was an old woman of strong mind and iron resolution, and nothing in the way of heart to speak of. Her accomplished son took after her in these admirable qualities.

"I have other fish to fry than listening to the empty babble of a maniac. By the bye, what did you say her name was?"

"Miss Dane," responded the doctor, after a slight pause.

He knew he might as well tell the truth about it, or Mollie herself would for him.

"And she is a relative of Blanche's husband?"

"A very near though unacknowledged relation. And now, mother mine, I'll take my supper and turn in if you'll permit me. I've had a very long and fatiguing drive this stormy night."

He sat down to the table and fell to work with an appet.i.te. Old Sally waited upon him, and gazed at his performance with admiring eyes.

"Won't your young lady want something, Guy?" his mother asked, presently.

"Let her fast a little," replied the doctor, coolly; "it will take some of the unnecessary heat out of her blood. I'll fetch her her breakfast to-morrow."

Mrs. Oleander upon this retired at once, and the doctor, after smoking old Peter's pipe in the chimney-corner, retired also.

Then the old man hobbled upstairs to bed, and Sally, after raking out the fire, and seeing to the secure fastening of doors and windows, took up her tallow candle and went after him.

Outside the door of the poor little captive she paused, listening in a sort of breathless awe. But no sound came forth: the tumult of wind, and sea, and rain had the inky night all to themselves.

"She's asleep, I reckon," said old Sally, creeping away. "Poor little, pretty creeter!"

But Mollie was not asleep. When the door had closed after Dr. Oleander, she had dropped on the floor like a stone, and had never stirred since.

She was not in a faint. She saw the ruddy blaze of the fire, as the tongues of flame leaped like red serpents up the chimney; she heard the wild howling of the night wind, the ceaseless dash and fall of the rain, the indescribable roar of the raging sea; she heard the trees creak and toss and groan; she heard the rats scampering overhead; she heard the dismal moaning of the old house itself rocking in the gale.

She saw, she heard, but as one who neither sees nor hears; like one in a drugged, unnatural stupor. She could not think; an iron hand seemed to have clutched her heart, a dreadful despair to have taken possession of her. She had made a horrible, irreparable mistake; she was body and soul in the power of the man she hated most on earth. She was his wife!--she could get no further than that.

The stormy night wore on; midnight came and the elemental uproar was at its height. Still she lay there all in a heap, suffering in a dulled, miserable way that was worse than sharpest pain. She lay there stunned, overwhelmed, not caring if she ever rose again.

And so morning found her--when morning lifted a dull and leaden eye over the stormy sea. It came gloomy and gray, rain falling still, wind whispering pitifully, and a sky of lead frowning down upon the drenched, dank earth and tossing, angry ocean.

All in a heap, as she had fallen, Mollie lay, her head resting on a chair, her poor golden ringlets tossed in a wild, disheveled veil, fast asleep. Pitifully, as sleep will come to the young, be their troubles ever so heavy, sleep had sealed those beaming blue eyes, "not used to tears at night instead of slumber." Tears, Mollie had shed none--the blow that had fallen had left her far beyond that.

Nine o'clock struck; there was a tap at the prison door. Dr. Oleander, thinking his patient's fast had lasted long enough, was coming with a bountiful breakfast. There was no reply to the tap.

"Mollie," the doctor called, gently, "it is I with your breakfast. I am coming in."

Still no response. He turned the key in the lock, opened the door and entered.

What he had expected, Dr. Oleander did not know; he was in a little tremor all over. What he saw was his poor, little prisoner crouched on the floor, her face fallen on a chair, half hidden by the shower of amber curls, sleeping like a very babe.

The hardened man caught his breath; it was a sight to touch any heart; perhaps it even found its way to his.

He stood and looked at her a moment, his eyes getting humid, and softly set down his tray.

"'The Sleeping Beauty,'" he said, under his breath. "What an exquisite picture she makes! My poor little, pretty little Mollie!"

He had made scarcely any noise; he stood gazing at her spell-bound; but that very gaze awoke her.

She fluttered like a bird in its nest, murmured indistinctly, her eyelids quivered a second, then the blue eyes opened wide, and directly she was wide awake.

"Good-morning, Mollie," said the doctor. "I'm afraid I awoke you, and you were sleeping like an angel. You have no idea how lovely you look asleep. But such a very uncomfortable place, my dear one. Why didn't you go to bed like a reasonable being?"

Mollie rose slowly and gathered away her fallen hair from her face. Her cheeks were flushed pink with sleep, her eyes were calm and steadfast, full of invincible resolution. She sat down in the chair she had used for a pillow, and looked at him steadily.

"You may take that away, Doctor Oleander," she said. "I will neither eat nor drink under this roof."

"Oh, nonsense, Mollie!" said the doctor, in no way alarmed by this threat; "yes, you will. Look at this b.u.t.tered toast, at these eggs, at this ham, at these preserves, raspberry jam. Mollie--'sweets to the sweet,' you know--look at them and you'll think better of it."

She turned her back upon him in bitter disdain.

"Mollie," the doctor said, beseechingly, "don't be so obstinately set against me. You weren't, you know, until I removed my disguise. I'm no worse now than I was before."