“Oh, Everard, it is all so dreadful, and sometimes my head buzzes and feels so big that I am afraid I shall go crazy, as they say I am. I have written and written to you and Bee and Lawyer Russell, and even to my brother, hoping he might be living; but no answer has come, and now I do not think my letters ever left this _Maison de Sante_, as they call the institution, which stands several miles back from the Danube. Take the boat at Lintz, and get off at ——, and come quick, and get me away from here before I die. I wonder I have not died before this, it is so awful to be shut up and called somebody else, and hear only a foreign language, of which at first I could not understand a word, and they tried not to let me learn. Only the doctor speaks English, and a woman called Yulah Van Eisner, who came as attendant two months ago, and who has promised to get this letter off for me. “I spoke brother’s name to her,—Dr. Matthewson,—and she almost foamed at the mouth, and actually spit upon me because I was his sister; but I made her know I was good, made her listen to me; and she became my friend, and taught me to speak with her, and will help me to get away if she can. She says my brother is not dead; he is a villain, and wants my money; and that Myra Van Schoisner is in the grave where they say I am; and it’s all horrible, and I am so sick and frightened, and so afraid I shall be mad if you don’t come quick. “Dear, dear Everard, come to your poor “ROSSIE.” This was all Rossie had written, but a postscript had been added, in a cramped, uneducated hand, and broken English, to this effect: “I open this paper to tell when comes come to Hotel _Rother Krebs_, in Lintz, where I is work _zu hause_, and wait for _die Amerikaner_. Asks for Yulah Van Eisner. I hates him much.”