“But, Susan, I cannot. It is a haunting horror. I could—I think I could get over even the diabolical memory of my trial if only I were quite sure I never harmed my child. But oh, Susan—on that awful night when she was born there were hours of agony, followed by hours of unconsciousness! There may have been between the agony and the unconsciousness moments of delirium in which I might have harmed my innocent, helpless child! I do not remember. But then, you know, Susan, that people recovering from delirium never know or recollect what passed during the fit. _I might have killed my own child!_ Oh, Heaven! Oh, Heaven! What a haunting horror that thought is to all my days and nights!” moaned the miserable woman, swaying herself back and forth and covering her face with her hands. “Miss Emolyn, my child, be comforted! You are clear of that sin! As sure as I am a living woman you have only brooded and brooded over this until you have got almost insane! Now think of this, Miss Emolyn! When you were first accused your mind was clear enough on the subject. You knew then that you had never hurt your child, and you affirmed it most positive and distinct to every one; and everybody believed you, too! Now this crazy notion of yours has only come of brooding over it.” “Oh, Susan, is that possible?” “Why, yes, ma’am! I have heard of such cases often and often! You aught to speak to a physician, Miss Emolyn. Here’s Dr. Willet quite convenient. Did you know he was in the neighborhood, Miss Emolyn?” “Yes, I knew he was there. He has been to see me on this island.” “Well, then, honey, speak to him.” “Perhaps. But, oh, Susan, who can ‘minister to a mind diseased?’ And, Susan,” she continued, sinking her voice to a whisper, “if _I_ did not harm my child, _who did_? The child was strangled, Susan! _Who did it?_” “Ah, dear knows, Miss Emolyn, honey!” sighed the woman. “You must pray!” “I ‘must pray.’ Perhaps some late remorse—some deathbed confession—may bring out the truth and give me peace!” CHAPTER XXIV A GOOD FAIRY A smile of hers is like an act of grace; For when she smiles, a light is on her face, A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam Of peaceful radiance, silvering o’er the stream Of human thought with an abiding glory, Not quite a waking truth, nor quite a dream— A visitation bright and transitory. H. COLERIDGE. The conversation between the Lady of Edengarden and her visitor continued until the return of Em., conducting her father. “This is my husband, madam. John, this is our Lady of the Manor,” said Susan Palmer, presenting the new arrival to her hostess. “I am very glad to see you, Mr. Palmer. I remember you quite well. You are not at all changed, except for the better. You are stouter and—taller, I almost think,” said Emolyn, holding out her hand.