Mary Wells did all she could to comfort her; but it was a situation beyond the power of words to alleviate. Her intolerable suspense lasted till four o'clock in the morning; and then, in the still night, horses' feet came clattering up to the door. Lady Bassett went into the hall. It was dimly lighted by a single lamp. The great door was opened, and in clattered Moss and Drake, splashed and weary and downcast. “Well?” cried Lady Bassett, clasping her hands. “My lady,” said Moss, “we tracked the carriage into the next county, to a place thirty miles from here--to a lodge--and there they stopped us. The place is well guarded with men and great big dogs. We heerd 'em bark, didn't us, Will?” “Ay,” said Drake, dejectedly. “The man as kept the lodge was short, but civil. Says he, 'This is a place nobody comes in but by law, and nobody goes out but by law. If the gentleman is here you may go home and sleep; he is safe enough.'” “A prison? No!” “A 'sylum, my lady.” CHAPTER XXI. THE lady put her hand to her heart, and was silent a long time. At last she said, doggedly but faintly, “You will go with me to that place to-morrow, one of you.” “I'll go, my lady,” said Moss. “Will, here, had better not show his face. They might take the law on him for that there shot.” Drake hung his head, and his ardor was evidently cooled by discovering that Sir Charles had been taken to a mad-house. Lady Bassett saw and sighed, and said she would take Moss to show her the way. At eleven o'clock next morning a light carriage and pair came round to the Hall gate, and a large basket, a portmanteau, and a bag were placed on the roof under care of Moss; smaller packages were put inside; and Lady Bassett and her maid got in, both dressed in black. They reached Bellevue House at half-past two. The lodge-gate was open, to Lady Bassett's surprise, and they drove through some pleasant grounds to a large white house. The place at first sight had no distinctive character: great ingenuity had been used to secure the inmates without seeming to incarcerate them. There were no bars to the lower front windows, and the side windows, with their defenses, were shrouded by shrubs. The sentinels were out of sight, or employed on some occupation or other, but within call. Some patients were playing at cricket; some ladies looking on; others strolling on the gravel with a nurse, dressed very much like themselves, who did not obtrude her functions unnecessarily. All was apparent indifference, and Argus-eyed vigilance. So much for the surface. Of course, even at this moment, some of the locked rooms had violent and miserable inmates. The hall door opened as the carriage drew up; a respectable servant came forward. Lady Bassett handed him her card, and said, “I am come to see my husband, sir.” The man never moved a muscle, but said, “You must wait, if you please, till I take your card in.”