From some near spot on the cliffs overhead, suddenly and startlingly, rang out a piercing shriek of insane, mocking laughter. Then at the point where the ledge of rocks descended, appeared a light. It was borne by a woman, elfish in face and form--Crazy Meg. She answered the description given of her by the tavern people too accurately to be mistaken. She bore a flaming pine-wood torch in her hand, and she began to descend the narrow ledge of rocks with the ease and carelessness of a sure-footed antelope. As she did so she waved the torch to and fro slowly and seemed to chant a weird gibberish-like incantation to the dark spirits her demented fancy evidently believed haunted the spot. At the lowest and last rock of the ledge and just within a few feet of the lurking Daley she paused. Her eyes gleamed fitfully, and she glanced wildly all about her. “White witch, black witch, red, green, yellow, all of you, come here!” she cried in shrill, unnatural tones. She waved the torch fiercely, and looked around more quietly as it seemed that she imagined the witches she had summoned to be near her. “Now, then,” she said, “we are all here. Ah, you love old Crazy Meg, for Meg is sharp and faithful. Soon her army is to be ready. Soon she will batter down all the asylum doors. She has her captain to lead the men on. Ha! ha! she has her captive, and he screams for liberty, and begs for liberty, and offers to pay for liberty, but he cannot go free. Why, my bonny witches? Because he is just the man to lead an army to victory. Such a strong arm, such a quick way, such a bold heart. I saw him kill a man like a flash. He can kill all the asylum people so, too. I followed him and made him my captive. Ha! ha! And I have money now--thousands and thousands of dollars, and I know great secrets. My captive fears me. I could send him to the dark, cold jail. Ha! ha! ha! ha!” The weird effect of the words on the listening Dean and Marcus was indescribable. They little dreamed the dark mystery that underlay the rambling soliloquy. They were only startled, terribly awed at the mystic scene. Not so Daley. Evidently he thought only of recovering the stolen money, and believed that the moment for action had arrived. Of a sudden he sprang up from his covert and grasped the woman’s arm, with a quick order for help to his companion. “Woman, you are our prisoner.” A wild cry escaped the lips of Crazy Meg. She jerked her arm loose. She dashed the flaming torch direct in the face of her captor. With a scream of pain and rage, Daley recoiled. Then, like a flash, Crazy Meg dashed up the ledge and disappeared. “After her!” shouted Daley, frenzied with pain. “We can’t climb that ledge,” demurred Spofford. “Then hasten to the cliffs beyond here. Quick, she must not escape.” So electrified by all the exciting scene had Marcus and Dean been, that they had not thought of their enemies coming suddenly their way.