Dakin, watching her, decided that she had never seen her look so handsome. A feverish flush tinged her ordinarily pale face, and her eyes shone with unnatural brilliancy. Seizing the wedding-dress, she motioned to Dakin to assist her into it, grumbling the while in a low undertone, quite unlike her usual clear, sweet voice, about the fit. Dakin had very little doubt by this time that the poor girl’s mind was temporarily deranged. She had been but a comparatively short time in the Cranstoun service, but she knew enough of Stella’s outward manner to be sure that this strange, restless irritability, these low, cunning fits of laughter, and this rough impatience of movement, differed entirely from Stella’s natural deportment. Once convinced that Miss Cranstoun was a little “off her head,” Dakin was extra anxious to please her. It was not her place, but Ellen’s, to help her to dress, and to make alterations in the fit of her gown; but rather than excite her to any outward paroxysm, Dakin pinned and stitched for a good hour, and felt genuinely thankful that it was Ellen, and not she, who had to sleep that night in the same room with the bride of to-morrow. When the lady’s maid at length entered the bedroom after supper, Dakin was curious to see whether she also would note the alteration for the worse in Stella’s manner. At first, the young woman was too much absorbed in Mr. Stephen Lee’s compliments to pay heed to anything around her; but gradually, as she whispered apart to Dakin, she became aware that Miss Cranstoun, seated by the fire in a white cashmere dressing-gown, with her black hair loose about her shoulders, was listening to her silly confidences, and staring at her with great, gleaming eyes. Ellen tried to go on with her chatter, but came suddenly to a full stop. “What’s wrong with her?” she asked of Dakin, in an awestruck whisper. Dakin, with her back to her young mistress, touched her forehead significantly, and shook her head. “Mad?” Ellen’s pale lips formed rather than uttered the words. Dakin nodded, and held up her finger warningly. “They get that sharp when they’re that way,” she whispered, confidentially. “If she’s violent in the night I’ll be sleeping in the next room, and I’ll come to you.” But this was not enough for Ellen. Shaking with fear, she protested that she could not be left alone with a mad woman, and that unless Dakin promised to sleep with her she would go right down to Sir Philip and tell him then and there that the marriage must be put off because his daughter was crazy. This threat had the effect of persuading Dakin to stay, the more so as she could see Miss Cranstoun watching them, and laughing softly to herself as the unhappy spies took whispering counsel together. Neither of them slept that night, except for occasional broken snatches, from which they were awakened with a start by fitful bursts of the same crazy laughter from the bride of the ensuing day.