"No wonder he would not look at me," she said despairingly. "Old and haggard and wrinkled before my time. Had ever woman so miserable an existence as mine? Will that unhappy episode of my life ever haunt me? That man knows it, and knows Mallard. Then there is the other. Ah, where is he? I was a fool to leave him; but I have been punished for my folly--bitterly punished. Fierce as he was, surely the spectacle of this wreck would satiate his hatred. But he is dead--dead. I have not seen nor heard of him for twenty years. He is dead, with my dead past." She paused and walked rapidly up and down the dusty room. In her loose white robe she looked like a phantom. With her flashing eyes and restless gestures, she seemed like a mad woman. In truth her brain was not quite sane. Long seclusion and incessant fretting had rendered her irresponsible, and she frequently gave way to fits of rage which were scarcely to be distinguished from insanity. Ordinarily languid and weak, she possessed at these times the strength of a man. She was dangerous, and knew she was dangerous. She was mad, but did not know it. Nor did any one else. Only when she was alone did she give way to these paroxysms--as on the present occasion. "If I only had that girl here, I would kill her!" she panted. "I would crush her life out, and stamp out the beauty of her face! He loves her beauty as once the other loved mine. Oh, that I could mar and spoil it! I hate her! I hate her!" Leaning against the wall, exhausted with her passions, she looked as though in a dying condition. The fit was ended for the moment, and, weak with her late exertion, she threw herself on her couch by the oriel. At that moment, Meg entered the room. She was astonished at the blaze of light, and wondered where her friend could be. "Miss Linisfarne! Miss Linisfarne!" The woman on the couch heard and recognized the voice. A fierce thrill of joy shot through her; but she did not move. She did not even raise her face from the couch, but mentally repeated to herself-- "She is here! She is in my power!" Unaware of the wrath which possessed her hostess, Meg came forward and knelt by the couch. She was deeply sorry to find Miss Linisfarne in so prostrate a condition, and strove to comfort her. "Miss Linisfarne, it is I. It is Meg. I have come to see you, and tell you how sorry I am that we quarrelled. Won't you speak to me?" By this time Miss Linisfarne was more composed, and, with the cunning of a mad woman, concealed the hatred she felt for her visitor. Yet, when she looked at Meg with glittering eyes, the girl started back in horror. The invalid appeared dangerous; but of her Meg felt no fear--as yet. "Miss Linisfarne! Are you ill?" "Ill, child? I am very ill," replied Miss Linisfarne, in a hurried voice. "See how bright my eyes are; feel how hot my hands are. Fever, child--fever." "Lie down again, and let me get you a cooling drink--your medicine." "No medicine will do me any good, child. I am dying."