“Oh, Mr. Frankl, do I look as if I was in the mood for that kind of fun to-night, a poor wretch like me, steeped in misery, my God knows”. “_I_ love _you_!” He suddenly grasped her wrist, his eyes blazing. “Stop--let me get out of this--” she said. “Wait!--I give you your chance!--Listen: I am not a man whose mind you can read right off like a book, I twist like an eel, I am deep, I am tricky, and I never yet met the man that I didn't hoodwink. Ninety-nine per cent of what I say is a lie; even when it is the truth, it is a lie just the same. But at this particular moment I am talking the God's truth: I want you! You shall be my little girl! Chuck Richard!--chuck the swine's-flesh!--I'll take you right away--to Paris--this very night--” She had arisen, alarmed by his hissed fury. “But, you are stark, staring, raving mad”, she said proudly, “that is what you are”. Frankl struck the side of the brougham, it flew, and Margaret tottered backward with an exclamation. The next moment she sent forth a scream, the grip of Frankl on her wrist agonizing her bones. “Where are we going?” she cried out. “I gave you your chance!” was Frankl's fierce answer. “Let me get out!--you must be a wretch--to take advantage--” He put his mouth to her ear till it touched. “Your nice Richard flogged me like a dog! I felt the cuts to the marrow of my damned soul! Now I've got him in the hollow of this hand! Why, you helped me! you helped me! That's good! And I've got you, too”. Blackness and swiftness bound her; a dizziness overcame her. Soon they were by a great pool of gloomy water--Wroxham Broad--where hern, wild duck, and the mast of the darkling boat brooded among bulrush; and now in three minutes more the brougham was sweeping over the lawn of a lonely building, surrounded by walls. She, peering, saw with joy both lights and a well-dressed man and woman; and, as the carriage stopped, she sprang out with alacrity, Frankl with her, still grasping her wrist. “Sir”, she blurted out at once, “you will help me, I know. I am a poor unfortunate woman--my name is Margaret Hogarth--” “We know!” said the gentleman, and, approaching Frankl's ear, asked in Yiddish: “How long has she had her delusion?” “Only about a week, I think. She may be violent at first, but--” “Come in, Miss--Hogarth”, said the gentleman. Margaret passed the threshold; the doors closed upon her... XII THE ROSE On the third morning of his confinement in Norwich, Hogarth was hurried into the hall of justice and the witness-box--in the dock Fred Bates. Bates had denied--with sufficient impudence, it seemed: for his wife had been found dead, battered and burned about the face, Bates' own hand also burned by the poker with which, _red-hot_, he was presumed to have beaten her. The same afternoon Bates was sentenced to death: but, having had sunstroke in Egypt, was afterwards reprieved. And two mornings later Hogarth heard the bar of the prisoner's dock clang behind himself.