"It _is_, miss. I've not time to tell you now, excepting just the heads, but we had such a curious thing happen. At the last place we stopped at, where Mrs. St. John went to take the steamer direct for London, there was a street show at night, consisting of these very churches and lanterns, all lighted up and carried about on poles. It's their way of keeping St. Martin's Eve; and I don't say it wasn't pretty enough, but of all the noises ever heard, which was caused by about a thousand horns, all being blowed together, that was the worst. We found Mrs. St. John on the floor in her room in a sort of fit; and when she came to, she said the wildest things--about having, or not having, we couldn't make it out, set fire herself to the child. She was as mad that night, Miss Darling, as anybody ever was. The sight of the lighted things had put the finishing touch to her brain." Rose hardly knew whether to recoil in fear, or to laugh in derision. The tale sounded very strange to her ear. "Prance was frightened, for once," went on the woman, "and it's not a little that can frighten _her_--as perhaps you know, miss. She telegraphed to Mrs. Darling, and we got Mrs. St. John on board the London boat--which was starting at three in the morning. She was calm then, from exhaustion, and seemingly sensible. Prance brought her up one or two of the lanterns and a horn to show her that they were real things and quite harmless." "She is very well, now," said Rose. "I had a letter from mamma this morning; and she says how glad she is that Charlotte is recovering her spirits." "Ah, well, miss, I'm rejoiced to hear it," was the answer, its tone one of unmistakable disbelief. "I hope she'll keep so. But that she was mad in the brain then, I could take my affidavit upon. Bless you, miss, I've seen a great deal of it: the notions that some sick people take up passes belief. I've known 'em fancy themselves murderers and many other things that's bad,--delicate ladies, too, who had never done a wrong thing in their lives." "My sister was always so very calm." "And so she was throughout, except at odd moments; quite unnaturally calm. She--but I'll tell you more about it another opportunity, Miss Darling," broke off the woman, as Madame de Castella entered the room. "It's no disparagement to the poor young lady--and she is young: sick folks are not accountable for the freaks their minds take." Rose returned a slighting answer, as if the words had made little impression on her. But as the hours went on, she somehow could not get rid of their remembrance; they seemed to grow deeper and deeper. What a horrible thing if the woman were right! if the grief and trouble should have turned Charlotte's brain! Extract From Miss Carr's Diary.