John Arthur was sitting in the middle of his bed, beating his pillows wildly, and imploring Henry, between shrieks of laughter, to come and kiss him, evidently mistaking him for some blooming damsel. As the damsel declined to come, the lunatic became furious, and hurled the pillows, and afterwards his night-cap, at him, with blazing eyes and cat-like agility. This done, he began to rock himself to and fro, and shout out the words of some old song to an improvised tune that was all on one note. Dr. Le Guise turned to Mr. Percy, whispering: "You see; that's the way he goes on, only worse at times." Mr. Percy turned away. The fair spinster who had been clinging to him in a paroxysm of terror, attempted to faint, but remembering her complexion thought better of it and contented herself with being half led, half carried out, in a "walking swoon." And both she and Mr. Percy felt there was no longer room to doubt the insanity of her brother. Having seen them depart, Dr. Le Guise sought out Mr. Davlin. Finding him in Cora's room, he entered and informed the pair of the desire Miss Arthur had manifested to come back to her brother's roof, and of his mode of putting off the evil day of her return. "Humph!" ejaculated Davlin, "what does it mean? I saw Percy in the village this morning, and he told me quite plainly that he desired an invitation to quarter himself upon us." "And what did you say?" gasped Cora. "Told him to come, of course, as soon as it was safe to do so." "Well!" said Cora, dryly, "I don't think it will be very safe for either of them to come just at present." "Oh, well," said the doctor, cheerfully, "we have got seven long days to settle about that. And if they insist upon coming, and _then catch the fever_, they mustn't blame me." And Dr. Le Guise looked as if he had perpetrated a good joke. John Arthur's insanity was as short-lived as it was violent. He lay for the rest of the day quiet and half stupefied. When night came on, he sank into a heavy slumber. At twelve o'clock that night, all was quiet in and about the manor. Cora Arthur was sleeping soundly, dreamlessly, as such women do sleep. In the room adjoining hers, Celine Leroque sat, broad awake and listening intently. At last, satisfied that her mistress was sleeping, Celine arose and stole softly into the room where she lay. Softly, softly, she approached the couch, passing through a river of moonlight that poured in at the broad windows. Then she drew from a pocket, something wrapped in a handkerchief. Noiselessly, swiftly, she moved, and then the handkerchief, shaken free from the something within, was laid upon the face of the sleeper, while the odor of chloroform filled the room. Nimbly her fingers moved, pulling away the coverings, and then the clothing, from the unconscious body. It is done in a moment. With a smothered exclamation of triumph, she draws away a _silken belt_, and removing the handkerchief, glides noiselessly from the room.