"But, my dear Miss Derwent, why do you take for granted that the fellow is innocent?--although, in his present state of health, it really does not make much difference whether he is or not. In this country we do not punish maniacs, even homicidal ones. We only shut them up till they are well again. I think, however, that you take a morbid view of the whole question. Of course, justice sometimes miscarries, but not often, and to one person who is unjustly convicted, there are hundreds of criminals who escape punishment. As with everything else--medicine, for instance; you do your best, take every precaution, and then, if you make a mistake, the only thing to do is not to blame yourself too severely for the consequences." "I quite agree with you," she said, "when to take a risk is part of your business. But is it not foolhardy to do so when there is no call for it?--when your inexperience renders you much more likely to commit some fatal error? What would you say if I tried to perform an operation, for instance?" She was working herself into such a state of excitement that I became alarmed; so, abruptly changing the subject, I inquired after her health. She professed to feel perfectly well (which I doubted). Still I did not take as serious a view of her case as Fred had done; for I knew--what both he and Mrs. Derwent ignored--that while in town the poor girl had been through various trying experiences. During that time she had not only been forced to break with Greywood, to whom I was sure she had been engaged, but an entanglement, the nature of which I did not know, had induced her to give shelter secretly, and at night, to two people of undoubtedly questionable character. The shock of the murder was but a climax to all this. No wonder that my poor darling--her heart bleeding from the uprooting of an affection which, however unworthy the object of it had proved, must still have been difficult to eradicate; her mind harassed by the fear of impending disgrace to some person whom I must believe her to be very intimately concerned with; her nerves shaken by the horror of a murder under her very roof--should return to the haven of her home in a state bordering on brain fever. That she had not succumbed argued well for her constitution, I thought. "Fred is quite worried about you, and asked me to beg you to take great care of yourself," I ventured to say. "What nonsense! What I need is a little change. I should be all right if I could get away from here." "This part of the world _is_ pretty hot, I acknowledge. A trip to Maine or Canada would, no doubt, do you a lot of good." "But I don't want to go to Maine or Canada--I want to go to New York." "To New York?" "Yes, why not? I find the country dull, and am longing for a glimpse of the city." "But the heat in town is insufferable, and there is nothing going on there," I reminded her.