She was not sure whether "swear" or "declare" would be the more proper word, and she questioned Richard, who decided upon "swear" as the stronger of the two, and she went on: "--SWEAR THAT THE MARRIAGE OF-- "As true as you live you can't SEE?" she asked, looking curiously into the sightless eyes. "No; I can't see," was the response, and satisfied that she was safe, Nina made him write, "--ARTHUR ST. CLAIRE AND NINA BERNARD, PERFORMED AT MY HOUSE, IN MY PRESENCE, AND BY ME--" Nina didn't know what, but remembering a phrase she had often heard used, and thinking it might be just what was needed, she said, "Does 'NULL AND VOID' mean 'SCRATCHED OUT?'" "Yes," he answered, smiling in spite of himself, and Nina added with immense capitals, "--NULL AND VOID," to what she had already written. "I reckon it will be better to have your name," she said, and the cramped fingers were compelled to add: "RICHARD HARRINGTON, COLLINGWOOD, November 25th 18--" "There!" and Nina glanced with an unusual amount of satisfaction at the wonderful hieroglyphics which covered nearly an entire page of foolscap, so large were the letters and so far apart the words. "That'll cure her, sure," and folding it up, she hastened back to Edith's chamber. Old Rachel watched that night, but Nina had no difficulty in coaxing her from the room, telling her she needed sleep, and Miggie was so much more quiet when alone with her. Rachel knew this was true, and after an hour or so withdrew to another apartment, leaving Edith alone with Nina. For a time Edith slept quietly, notwithstanding that Nina rattled the spoons and upset a chair hoping thus to wake her. Meanwhile Richard's curiosity had been thoroughly roused with regard to the SCRATCHING OUT, and knowing Victor was still up, he summoned him to his presence, repeating to him what had just occurred and saying, "If you find that paper read it. It is surely right for me to know what I have written." "Certainly," returned Victor, bowing himself from the room. Rightly guessing that Nina would read it aloud to Edith, he resolved to be within hearing distance, and when he heard Rachel leave the chamber he drew near the door, left ajar for the purpose of admitting fresher air. From his position he saw that Edith was asleep, while Nina, with the paper clasped tightly in her hand, sat watching her. Once the latter thought she heard a suspicious sound, and stealing to the door she looked up and down the hall where a lamp was burning, showing that it was empty. "It must have been the wind," she said, resuming her seat by the bedside, while Victor Dupres, gliding from the closet where he had taken refuge, stood again at his former post, waiting for that deep slumber to end. "Nina, are you here?" came at last from the pale lips, and the bright, black eyes unclosed looking wistfully about the room.