“You are right. I must go to stop the tongue of slander,” she agreed, bitterly vowing to herself that she would bide her time for revenge on all who had brought about her cruel humiliation. “I shall go with you, my dear; I shall share your punishment; I will help you to bear it, and, if you improve very fast, we can soon leave and go into the world again; perhaps follow Laurie across the sea.” “But that girl, mama! She must never cross my path again. I could not bear it!” furiously. “Not now, perhaps, Lelia, but by and by you must school yourself to it. General Willoughby is her guardian now, and you can scarcely prevent a future meeting,” anxiously. The upshot of it all was that Lelia went with her mother the next day to the sanatorium for nerve treatment. And for a week or two she certainly needed the treatment she received there. She was unstrung by her misfortune; her mind was a nightmare of revengeful, rebellious thoughts. As she grew better she began to look about among her fellow patients for diversion. And no one in the world, no one who had known her even the most intimately, could have predicted what was coming to Lelia there in what she petulantly called her prison. She became deeply interested in a sick playwright, a handsome young fellow, who had broken down in the midst of what he called the cleverest production he had ever attempted--a play that was sure to make his fortune. Ill and nervous, broken down with overwork, forbidden to touch a pen, he yet chafed unceasingly over his plight. In the beautiful Lelia, whom he regarded with passionate admiration, he found an ardent sympathizer. “Only think, there are but five scenes wanting to complete the drama! And I cannot go on. When I try to think there is such a strange buzzing in my head. They say I have wheels in it, don’t you know,” laughingly, “so I cannot get on. I grow nervous and weary and despondent, and the doctor scolds me for trying to do anything! Yet I am ruined if I break my contract to have it ready for staging the first of October.” Lelia knit her fair brows and exclaimed thoughtfully; “Oh, perhaps I can help you. I have seen so many plays, I have read so many novels, and I have so many plots in my head. Tell me all about your play.” She seemed so beautiful, so clever, and there was about her, somehow, such a latent fire and passion that he thought she might possibly suggest an idea that was lacking. So, with a trembling hope, he let her read the manuscript. Lelia became enthusiastic. There was a fortune in that drama, she declared. “Oh, let me finish it! I can do it! I feel it stirring in me!” she cried, with breathless enthusiasm. Richard Hale was only too willing to have her try, and with the stirrings of some new force within her, Lelia shut herself into her room and worked with ardor on the conclusion of the drama.