“I don’t like this business—I wish I hadn’t put my finger in it,” he muttered; “the girl is no more crazy than I am, and I was a fool to lend myself to madam’s scheme, though I did need the money sadly. I believe—as soon as I am sure that she has left the country—I’ll make terms with the girl on condition that she will promise not to denounce me.” Alas! delays are dangerous, says the old proverb, and Dr. Arnot’s doom was sealed when he decided in favor of procrastination. A fortnight slipped by, and Salome continued to mingle every day with the poor wrecks about her, and though her heart was often sad with hope deferred, she became deeply interested in her strange companions. For some of them she grew to feel a great tenderness, while to them she seemed like a beautiful saint. If a patient were ill or fractious, the attendant had only to send for Salome, when a few quiet words, a clasp of the hand, a softly breathed hymn, would subdue the unruly spirit, restore harmony, or lull the restless sufferer to sleep. But during all this time the anxious girl had found no opportunity to send her letter to Harriet. It still lay in the depths of the capacious pocket of her nun’s dress. There was scarcely a day that there was not some visitor in the ward; sometimes there were two or three; but no one had yet appeared in whom she felt that she could have confidence. Besides, they were always accompanied by Dr. Arnot, one of the other physicians, or by some attendant, and Salome felt that she was always closely watched at such times, consequently she had not dared to address any one. There were times when she was sad and depressed because of hope deferred, but if anything could have consoled her it would have been the fact that she was doing good, while it was not entirely uninteresting to study the different phases of insanity around her. * * * * * Meantime Harriet Winter had become very anxious about her young mistress. She had received a letter which Salome had inclosed to her in one which she had written to the mother-superior, and in which she had told her when she might look for her return to Paris. So she had given herself no uneasiness until the time had passed and she did not make her appearance or send her any word regarding plans for the future. Then she began to be troubled, and one morning took a sudden resolve that she would go out to the chateau and ascertain the cause of Salome’s detention. The Rochesters and Winthrops—the latter having returned a few days after Salome’s departure, in good health and spirits—were very busy preparing for their departure to Italy, and Harriet found considerable confusion prevailing at the villa. As it happened, Mrs. Rochester was passing through the great hall just as the servant was admitting her, and instantly realized that she was on the brink of a danger which she had not foreseen.