Then they rolled restlessly about the room, and took in every thing from the picture on the wall to the fire in the grate, and then went back again to the young girl, still singing her song of summer. The music evidently had a soothing effect upon the poor, crazed creature, and her eyes were soft and pleasant and moist with tears as she drew near to Magdalen, who at last felt the hot breath upon her neck, and knew there was some one behind her. There was a violent start, then a sudden crash among the keys, as Magdalen felt not only the breath, but the touch of the long, white fingers, which clasped her shoulder so firmly. She could see the fingers as they held to her dress, but only the outline of a human form was visible, and so she did not scream until she turned her head and saw the white-robed woman, with the long hair falling down her back, the peculiar look of insanity in every feature. Then a shriek, loud and unearthly, rang through the house, followed by another and still another, as she felt the woman’s arm twining itself around her neck, and heard the woman’s voice saying to her, “What are you, angel or devil, that you can move me so?” Roused by the terrific shrieks, the servants came rushing to the parlor, where they found Magdalen fainted entirely away, with the maniac bending over her and peering into her face. When Magdalen came to herself, she was in her own room, and the girl, Honora, who waited on her in the absence of Pauline, was sitting by and caring for her. She did not seem inclined to talk, and to Magdalen’s inquiries, “Oh, what was it, and shall I see it again?” she merely replied, “You’ll not be troubled any more. It was the fault of Mrs. Jenks. She drank half a bottle of wine since noon and is drunk as a beast.” That was all the explanation Magdalen could get, and as she recovered rapidly from the effects of her fainting fit, she signified her wish to be left alone; but she did not venture to the parlor again that night, and she saw that both the doors leading from her room and Alice’s into the hall were locked, and bolted, too. Then she tried to reason herself into a tolerable degree of calmness and quiet, as she thought over the events of the evening and wondered who the maniac was. “Alice’s mother, most likely,” she said, and a great throb of pity swept over her for the young girl whose life had been so darkened and who had possibly never known a mother’s love any more than she herself had done.