“We lived on quietly there, and poor Julie’s mania developed itself in two forms. She had a fierce thirst for human blood, and a most inordinate love for finery, delighting to array her dreadful form in the richest robes and most brilliant jewels. In the hope of subduing her bloodthirsty mania, I humored the harmless taste for dress to a great extent. I constantly made additions to her wardrobe, of the most gorgeous and dazzling apparel, and I provided her with a jewel-box of splendid paste imitations of diamonds. She never wearied of decking herself in these things, and would be quiet and docile for weeks together in placid enjoyment of them. Again her mania for shedding blood would seize upon her, and she would fly at me and at Mrs. Griffin in a fury of rage, with murder flashing from her eyes. On one occasion she accidentally got out of her room, possessed herself of a tiny jeweled dagger, and flew through the house like a raging lioness seeking her prey. On that occasion she wounded me first, and then your beautiful Aline!” As if overcome with horror, he groaned aloud and buried his face in the pillow. “Much as I would like to hear the remainder of your story, I must refuse to listen to you longer now, for I can see that you are completely exhausted,” said the lawyer. “I shall leave you now to repose. To-morrow, if you are better, you may continue your story.” “But I am so anxious to clear Aline in your eyes that I am too impatient to postpone my story,” said Oran Delaney feebly, for it was quite true that he was exhausted by the efforts he had made. “Nevertheless, I shall refuse to hear any more to-day,” answered the lawyer, with a smile. “I am going out now, and I shall send Mrs. Griffin in to take charge of you.” He left the room, and the old nurse came in and installed herself by his pillow. The next morning, after the refreshment of a sound night’s sleep, he continued his story to Mr. Rodney. CHAPTER LVII. “I would sooner have died than have wronged your willful, innocent child, Mr. Rodney,” he said. “When she came into the garden that day I had no thought but her pleasure. She seemed but a child to me, and I saw no harm in her going into Delaney House with me to share my lunch. I had been so long secluded from the world that I did not remember its hard rules. I was pleased with the beautiful, happy girl, and I thought that her people had treated her unfairly, in leaving her at home, while they went away to enjoy themselves. In a languid, careless way I allowed her to enjoy herself. It seemed very easy to her to do so.” “She had a sunny, happy temper when all went well with her,” said Mr. Rodney, with a heavy sigh to the memory of his self-exiled daughter.