The blood was gone from her tense, anguished face; one hand clutched at her heart. She did not speak, but gasped horribly for breath. There was no need now for her to direct him. He poured out a dose of medicine and forced it between her lips. He gave her another spoonful; the drops trickled from her mouth and stained the front of her crimson gown. Then, with his assistance, she crept to his couch, pulled herself upon it and lay down, groaning. He sat on the floor beside her, stroking her hand. For some time she was too weak to speak. Her black eyebrows were drawn down, the cleft between them was deep, like the gash of a knife. Her white hair fell about her head in disorder. She drew a ragged coverlid over her chest, as if suffering from the cold, though the sun shone in upon her as she lay and mercilessly illumined her desperate face. The spasm of agony abated, and after some minutes she breathed more freely. Then, with a sigh, her muscles relaxed and her voice came clear and calm. "You must be a good boy, Francis," she began, "for I am going away. It’s all over now with the worry and the puzzle and the pain. What will you do, I wonder? Oliver might help, perhaps. Oliver isn’t so bad, down in his heart. He was fair enough. There’s money enough. Francis, when I fall asleep, look in the trunk and hide the money, if you can—don’t let them get it away from you! Wait till I’m asleep, though—the key is in my bag. What a fool I was! I might have known. There was my grandmother, she was mad, too. It may stop with me—oh, she was a dear little thing, though!" "Who was the little girl, Mamsy?" Francis inquired, his curiosity overcoming his fear for her. "Born with a veil, born with a veil! I was a seventh daughter, too—much good it did me! I could tell others—who could tell me? Bosh! it’s all rubbish—we’ll never know! fol-de-rol, Francis, it’s all gammon—all but Weenie. Weenie knows. Yellow hair, too; it will grow gray soon enough!" Then, as if she had just heard his question she broke our querulously, "Where did _you_ see her?" "I looked through a crack in the door, Mamsy." She pulled herself up in a frenzy of anger and shook her finger at him. "Oh, you did, did you? You snooping, sniping monkey! I’ll tell you what you were looking at, you were watching the train to New York! You’ll go to Toledo, will you? You won’t find anything there. Go to New Orleans; there’s plenty to find out in New Orleans! In Denver, too, and way stations, but be careful, be careful! I was born in Toledo." She sank back exhausted. "Don’t be worried, Mamsy," said Francis, attempting to calm her. "I won’t never go to Toledo, Mamsy!"