A mystery no longer, but a living, breathing, panting woman, with wild, rolling eyes, masses of jet-black hair streaked with gray streaming down her back, and long white arms and hands, which beat the air helplessly as she tried to escape from the firm grasp of her attendant, Mrs. Jenks. It was Magdalen’s first close contact with a maniac, and she drew back a step or two, appalled by the wild outcry with which the woman greeted her, and the desperate spring she made toward the spot where she was standing. For an instant she was tempted to flee from the room, but Mrs. Jenks had her patient under control by virtue of superior strength. There was no escaping from the vice-like grasp of her strong arms, and so Magdalen stood still and gazed spellbound upon the terrible spectacle. “Come nearer and see what effect your speaking to her will have. She has asked for you all night; she will not hurt you,” Mrs. Jenks said, and Magdalen went up to the poor, restless, tossing creature, and sitting down upon the bed took in her own the hot hand which was extended toward her. “Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Grey?” she said, softly caressing the wasted hand which held hers so tightly. Quick as lightning a gleam of anger shot from the black eyes as the woman replied: “Don’t insult _me_ by calling me _Mrs. Grey_. That name has been a curse to me from the moment I bore it. Call me _Laura_, or nothing!” “Well, then, Laura, can I do anything to make you better?” Magdalen said, and the woman replied, “Yes, stay with me always, and sing as you did last night when I thought the angels called me; and put your hand on my head;—feel how hot it is. There is a lost baby’s soul in there, burning up for my sin.” She carried Magdalen’s hand to her forehead, which was hot with fever and excitement, and Magdalen could feel the blood throbbing through the swollen veins. “Poor Laura,” she said, “poor, sick woman! I am so sorry for you. I would have come before if I had known you wanted me.” “Yes but don’t waste time in words. I’ve had a plenty of those all my life. Sing! sing! sing!—that is what I want,” interrupted the crazy woman, and sitting on the bed, with the hot hand grasping hers, Magdalen tried to think what she could sing that would soothe her excited patient. There was a trembling in her joints and a choking sensation in her throat which seemed to preclude the possibility of her singing, but she made a great effort to control herself, and at last began the beautiful hymn, “Peace, troubled soul,” her voice growing in steadiness and sweetness and volume as she saw the effect it had upon poor Laura, whose eyes grew soft and gentle, and finally filled with tears, which rolled in great drops down her sunken cheeks. Mrs. Jenks had relaxed her vigilance now, and Laura lay perfectly still, listening with rapt attention to the song, and keeping her eyes fixed upon Magdalen’s face, as if there were some spell to hold them there.