"Pooh! there is not the slightest danger. The ball is in your own hands; Mollie is safe as safe in your dreary farmhouse by the sea. Your mother and Sally and Peter are all true as steel; no danger of her escaping from them." "No; but they decline to have anything to do with my mad patient. It was no easy matter, I can tell you, to get them to consent to having her there at all. I must get her an attendant." "That increases the risk. However, the risk is slight. Advertise." "I mean to. I sent an advertisement to the papers before I came here, carefully worded. Applicants are to come to my office. Those who read it, and who know me, will think I want a nurse for one of my invalids, of course." "You will be very careful in your selection, Guy?" "Certainly. My life depends upon it. It is a terrible risk to run, Blanche, for a foolish little girl." "Bah! Quaking already? And you pretend to love her?" "I do love her!" the young man cried, passionately. "I love her to madness, or I would not risk life and liberty to obtain her." "I don't see the risk," said Mrs. Blanche, coldly. "You have the cards in your own hands--play them as you choose. Only you and I know the secret." Dr. Oleander looked at his fair relative with a very gloomy face. "A secret that two know is a secret no longer." "Do you dare doubt me?" demanded the lady, fiercely. "No--yes--I don't know. Oh! never look so haughtily insulted, Mrs. Walraven. I almost doubt myself. It's my first felony, and it is natural a fellow should quake a little. But Mollie is worth the risk--worth ten thousand risks. If it were to do over again, I would do it. By Heaven, Blanche! you should have seen her as she stood there brandishing that dagger aloft and defying me! I never saw anything so transcendently beautiful!" Mrs. Walraven's scornful upper lip curled. "Lady Macbeth--four feet high--eh? 'Give me the daggers!' I always knew she was a vixen. Your married life is likely to be a happy one, my dear Guy!" "Oh!" Dr. Guy aspirated, "if she only were my wife! Blanche, I would give all I possess on earth to know who that man is!" "Indeed!" said Mme. Blanche, coolly. "Then I think I can tell you: it was Hugh Ingelow." "Blanche!" "I have no positive knowledge, you see, of the fact," went on the lady, adjusting her regal robes, "but an inward prescience tells me so. However, you may remarry her and welcome, Guy. I don't think she will hardly be tried for bigamy. The happy man, whoever he may be, will scarcely come forward and prove the previous marriage." "And she loves this Hugh Ingelow?" the doctor said, moodily. "She told that old lady so," Mrs. Blanche said, airily. "But, my dear love-struck cousin, what of that? To love, is one thing; to have, is another. She may love Ingelow, but she is yours. Make her your wife. Teach her to overcame that little weakness."