In all her speculations regarding the mysterious prisoner, Lily had not imagined aught as dreadful as the reality. There lay the poor frame upon the bed, its tattered dress scarce covering its bony knees, its claw-like hands twisted wildly together. The limbs presented the appearance of bones with parchment-like skin drawn tightly over them. Masses of long, black hair, tangled and unkempt, strayed over the coarse pillow, and fierce, dark eyes, sunken and dim, peered from their hollow orbits in a face shriveled simply to skin and bone, the cheeks fallen in, the temples hollow, the purple lips drawn away from the glistening white teeth. This dreadful creature stopped its frenzied cries at Lily's entrance, and crouching into a frightened heap wailed out submissively: "I will hush, I will hush! Do not beat me again!" "Poor creature, I will not harm you," answered Lily, gently. She stood in the center of the room, holding the lamp in her shaking hand, its light streaming over her lovely face and golden hair. The poor creature turned suddenly at the sound of her compassionate voice and looked at her with an expression of awe in her great, hollow eyes. "Are you an angel?" she asked, abruptly. "No, poor soul; I am a wronged and unhappy prisoner like yourself!" "Another one of _his_ victims?" queried the living skeleton, sitting up on the cot and folding her emaciated arms around her skinny knees. Lily came forward and seated herself on the foot of the bed, and set her lamp on the floor. "Of whom are you speaking?" asked she. "Of Harold Colville, to be sure," said the poor woman, shuddering as the name writhed over her blanched lips. "Has he married you, too, eh?" "God forbid," ejaculated her visitor with a strong shiver of disgust. "I am a poor girl whom he is trying to force into a marriage with him. He has stolen me away from my friends and is keeping me locked up here until I consent to be his wife. But I will never, never do so!" she cried, passionately. "You do not love him?" said the poor frame beside her. "No, I hate him! But who are you?" asked Lily, her interest deepening in the poor creature whose mind it was evident still burned clearly in her wrecked frame. "I am Fanny Colville," was the answer, in a low and bitter tone. "I am Harold Colville's lawful wife--I was married to him four years ago." "Is it possible?" cried Lily, with a violent start. "Then why are you here?"