“See here, Hagar, you _are not_ mad, and you _shall not_ go mad! Listen to me, and I will bring you to your reason very soon, and very thoroughly. You give way to all sorts of wild impulses—always _did_, always _will_—extravagant in every emotion, frantic in every passion; from the love of your children to the hatred of your fancied rival; from the adoration visited upon me to the worship tendered God; from your taste for horses, to your talent for harmony; all, all extravagance; I naturally expect it from you; but there is a limit to your license, mistress; you are not to grow malignant or dangerous in any way; harmless and quiet lunatics may go at large; phrensied, mad women must be confined; harmless lunatics may be permitted to remain in the house with children, maniacs must be kept away from them. I am going to leave the country. I cannot think of leaving my children within reach of a woman, subject to visitations of irresistible impulses and terrible fascinations to deeds of blood—I must see her calm. You are calm now, I think, Hagar! quite cooled down, are you not? Say, Hagar?” She was. The color had all faded away from her face, and she sat with haggard eyes fixed upon her clasped hands. “Will you retire to rest now, as we leave so early in the morning?” She arose and walked quietly to her room—he followed her after a while. She did not sleep all night, but lay quietly with her fingers pressed around her forehead. Before the first faint grey of morning dawned, Mrs. Collins rapped at their door to say that breakfast was ready. In half an hour from that the travellers had dressed, breakfasted, and stood grouped in the chilly hall, while the carriage was rolling up to the door. It stood still—the driver jumped down, opened the door, let down the steps, and remained waiting by its side. “Hagar!” said Raymond Withers, turning pale, as he went to her and opened his arms. “You last—you last!” she exclaimed, hastily kissing Rosalia, and turning, throwing herself into his arms.