A moment after Dr. West held in his hand a worn, yellow paper, on which were traced the last words ever written by the unfortunate Anna, words which made the doctor’s chest heave with anguish as he read them, while his mother sobbed hysterically. A part of this letter we transcribe for the reader: * * * “I am in a mad-house, darling, where are so many, many crazy people, and they say that I am crazy too. It’s only the secret in my head and heart which makes them burn so cruelly. Richard and mother brought me here. Poor Richard looks so white and sorry, and speaks so kindly of you, wondering where you are, that once I bit my tongue until it bled, to keep from telling what I knew. If I had not promised with my hand upon the Bible, I am sure I should tell, but that oath haunts me day and night, and I dare not break it, so now I never talk, and I was glad when they brought me here, for it was safer so. It was dreadful at first, and sometimes I most wished I could die, but God is here just as He is in Morrisville, and at last I prayed to Him as I used to do. You see I forgot to pray for a while, it was so terrible, and I thought I was lost forever, but I’ve found God again, and I don’t mind the dreadful place. Everybody is kind to me, everybody says ‘poor girl,’ and you need not worry because I am here. I pray for you every minute, and God will hear and save you, because He has promised, and God never lies. Dear, darling Robert, if I dared tell you something, it might perhaps bring you home to spare me from the shame which is surely coming, unless I tell, and that I’ve sworn not to do. It makes me blush to write it, and so I guess I won’t; but just imagine, if I was your wife before all the world, and we were living somewhere alone, and Richard did not love me, as I know he does, and folks called me Mrs. West instead of poor Anna, and you always hurried home at night to see me, wouldn’t it be nice if we had a little baby between us to love, you because it was Anna’s, and I because it was Robert’s! But now, O Robert, what shall I do, with you away, and that Bible oath in my heart. God will help me, I hope, and perhaps take me home to him, where they know I am innocent. Poor Richard, I pity him most when he comes to know it, but God will care for him, and when I am gone he will find some other one more worthy than I for him to love. “There came a young girl here yesterday, not to stay, for her brains all were sound, but with some more to look at us, and as they reached my door I heard the attendant whisper something of me, while the stranger came up to me and said: