“You must keep her, Dr. Morton,” said Sir Lionel, in the same tone. “You know what she wants. I will pay you well. Money is no object. You must keep her close--close--yes, close as the grave. She is incurable, doctor. She must never come out of this place with her mad fancies. For she is mad--mad--mad--mad--mad. Oh yes. Ha, ha, ha!” Sir Lionel then smiled as before, and chuckled to himself, while a leer of cunning triumph flashed for a moment from his wandering eyes. “Trapped!” he ejaculated, softly. “Trapped! The keeper! The keeper trapped! She thought she was my keeper! And so she was. But she was trapped--yes, trapped. The keeper trapped! Ha, ha, ha! She thought it was an inn,” he continued, after a brief silence, in which he chuckled to himself over the remembrance of his scheme; “and so she was trapped. The keeper was caught herself, and found herself in a mad-house! And she'll never get out--never! She's mad. They'll all believe it. Mad! Yes, mad--and in a mad-house! Ha, ha, ha! There's Lady Dudleigh for you! But she's Mrs. Dunbar now. Ha, ha, ha!” Reginald's eagerness to learn more was uncontrollable. In his impatience to find out he could no longer wait for his father's stray confessions. “What mad-house? Where?” he asked, eagerly and abruptly. Sir Lionel did not look at him. But the question came to him none the less. It came to him as if it had been prompted by his own thoughts, and he went on upon the new idea which this question started. “She saw me write it, too--the letter--and she saw me write the address. There it was as plain as day--the address. Dr. Morton, I wrote, Lichfield Asylum, Lichfield, Berks. But she didn't look at it. She helped me put it in the post-office. Trapped! Trapped! Oh yes--the keeper trapped!” he continued. “She thought we were going to Dudleigh Manor, but we were going to Lichfield Asylum. And we stopped there. And she stopped there. And she is there now. Trapped! Ha, ha, ha! And, my good doctor, keep her close, for she's mad. Oh yes--mad--mad--mad--and very dangerous!” The wretched man now began to totter from weakness, and finally sat down upon the floor. Here he gathered his quilt about him, and began to smile and chuckle and wag his head and pick at his fantastic dress as before. The words which he muttered were inaudible, and those which could be heard were utterly incoherent. The subject that had been presented to his mind by the entrance of Reginald was now forgotten, and his thoughts wandered at random, like the thoughts of a feverish dream, without connection and without meaning.