Downstairs in the library Bartley Bradstone paced to and fro. He had got a decanter of brandy from the dining-room cellaret, and every now and then he filled a glass with unsteady hand. Now and again he stole to the door and, opening it cautiously, listened intently. Then, as no sound reached him from the room upstairs, he went back to his brandy and his restless, fearful pacing. For hours, far into the night, Olivia lay wrapped in the deep unconsciousness which is so nearly akin to the great sleep; then suddenly the doctor held up his hand and bent over her. “Do not speak to her!” he whispered to the squire, who rose tremblingly. She opened her eyes, and looked round dully and vacantly, then she murmured, faintly: “Where am I?” Bessie drew herself up and put her arm across her. “Here, Miss Olivia, here in your own room, at home, at the Grange. I am with you--Bessie--and the squire.” A look of relief crossed the lovely face. “Thank God!” she breathed. “I--I thought--I dreamed--ah!” and she made an effort to rise. “Where is he?” “Hush, hush, my darling!” said the poor squire. “He is downstairs in the library.” She sank back, and her lips quivered. “In the library. Here, and--and safe! Ah, what a dreadful dream!” “Bartley is safe, quite safe, of course, dear,” he said, soothingly. She started, and her eyes dilated, as they fixed themselves on his face. “Bartley Bradstone! Is he here? Father!” and her voice rang with an awful dread. “You will not let him take me away, you will not----” “No, no, no, dear!” said Bessie, quick to divine her fear. “No one shall take you!” She sank back again, but tossed her head from one side to the other, her eyes glittering feverishly. “I--I am trying to think; I can’t remember! What has happened? Something dreadful--dreadful! Tell me, Bessie--tell me, or I shall go mad!” The squire bent over her; but the doctor held up his hand. “Let the girl speak to her,” he whispered. With the tears filling her eyes, Bessie drew the hot, restless head upon her bosom. “Is it this mistake about Mr. Faradeane, miss?” she said, with forced carelessness. “Yes, yes!” panted Olivia, her eyes seeming to glow upon Bessie’s face. “Tell me!” “It’s all a mistake,” said Bessie, calmly, setting her teeth almost defiantly, “a stupid, senseless mistake that people will be sorry for----” and unconsciously her voice rose. The doctor raised a warning finger. “Don’t excite her,” he said. Bessie’s voice sank again. “Don’t think anything of it, dear Miss Olivia. It will all come right. You and I--everybody knows he didn’t do it--couldn’t do it.” “Couldn’t? Ah!” Her hand clutched Bessie’s arm, and she stared at her wildly. “They say he had committed murder! I heard them! I heard them! They have taken him away, Bessie. Bessie, I must go. No”--and she moaned--“I cannot. But you must go and tell him that I know--do you hear?--I know he is innocent. That if any harm comes to him I--shall die!”