At this each of the women seized one of Lady Dudleigh's hands quickly and dextrously, the result of long practice, and then they drew her out of the room. Lady Dudleigh resisted, but her strength was useless. She was dragged along helplessly, while all the time the doctor walked after her, prattling in his usual way about “the nice room,” and how “comfortable” she would find it. At length they reached a room, and she was taken in. One of the women entered with her. Lady Dudleigh looked around, and saw that the walls were bare and whitewashed; the floor was uncarpeted; an iron bedstead and some simple furniture were around her, and a small grated window gave light. It looked dreary enough, and sufficiently prison-like to appall any one who might be thus suddenly thrust in there. Lady Dudleigh sank into a chair exhausted, and the woman began to make her bed. “My good woman,” said Lady Dudleigh, anxious to get some clue to her position, “can you tell me what all this means?” “Sure it's all for the good of your health,” said the woman. “But I'm not ill.” “No, not to say ill; but the body's often all right when the mind's all wrong.” “The mind? There's nothing the matter with my mind. Dr. Morton has been deceived. He would not dare to do this if he knew it.” “Sure, now, it's nothing at all, and you'll be well soon.” At these simple words of the woman Lady Dudleigh began to understand the situation. This must be a lunatic asylum, a private one. Sir Lionel had brought her here, and told the doctor that she was insane. The doctor had accepted his statement, and had received her as such. This at once accounted for his peculiar mode of addressing her. “There's a mistake,” said Lady Dudleigh, quietly. “Dr. Morton has been deceived. Let me see him at once, please, and I will explain. He does not know what a wrong he is doing. My good woman, I am no more mad than you are.” “Dear, dear!” said the woman, going on placidly with her work; “that's the way they all talk. There's not one of them that believes they're mad.” “But I'm not mad at all,” said Lady Dudleigh, indignant at the woman's obtuseness. “There, there; don't you go for to excite yourself,” said the woman, soothingly. “But I s'pose you can't help it.” “So this is a mad-house, is it?” said Lady Dudleigh, gloomily, after a pause. “Well, 'm, we don't call it that; we call it a 'sylum. It's Dr. Morton's 'sylum.” “Now see here,” said Lady Dudleigh, making a fresh effort, and trying to be as cool as possible, “I am Lady Dudleigh. I have been brought here by a trick. Dr. Morton is deceived. He is committing a crime in detaining me. I am not mad. Look at me. Judge for yourself. Look at me, and say, do I look like a madwoman?” The woman, thus appealed to, good-naturedly acquiesced, and looked at Lady Dudleigh. “'Deed,” she remarked, “ye look as though ye've had a deal of sufferin' afore ye came here, an' I don't wonder yer mind give way.”