"Who are you?" asked the poor, wasted creature, looking up into the strange face of the new-comer. "I am a friend, poor creature--one who will deliver you from your dungeon, and give you liberty," said the detective, advancing into the room. Joy beamed on the pale, shrunken features of the prisoner. For a moment she could not speak, then she murmured brokenly: "Thank God for those words! I am starving and dying here. I have not tasted food for two days!" Mr. Shelton in his frequent excursions had contracted a habit of carrying a flask of wine and paper of crackers in his pocket for his own occasional refreshment. He took a silver cup from his pocket, and pouring a small portion of wine into it held it silently to the lips of the poor, famishing woman. She drank it thirstily. He then began to dip crackers into the wine and fed her slowly and carefully. "You feel better now?" he inquired, after she had consumed a generous portion of the food. "Oh! so much better," said she, fervently, laying her head back on its hard pillow while the hungry, famished look died out of her eyes and a softer light beamed in them. "I thank you very much, sir. I was on the verge of expiring when you came to my relief!" "Perhaps you feel well enough to tell me your name now," said he, smiling kindly. "My name is Fanny Colville," she answered, feebly. The detective started. "Are you any relation of Harold Colville, of New York?" he inquired. "I am his wife," said poor Fanny, simply. "His wife!" repeated the detective, a gleam of light breaking in on his mind regarding Mr. Colville's visit to this place. "Then why does he keep you chained up here like a dog?" he inquired indignantly. "He does not know of it," said Mrs. Colville. "He does not know of it," repeated Mr. Shelton in surprise; "you amaze me, madam. Surely he visited you a few days ago. I saw him leaving the house." "I do not doubt that he was here. It is more than probable he was, but he did not come to see me. He believes me dead. He hired the old woman here to kill me and my child. He was weary of me and sighed for a fairer face," explained the deeply wronged wife. "Yet the old woman, more merciful than your husband, spared your life," said he. "She killed my child and let me live because she loved to have something about her that she might torture at will," said the poor woman bitterly. "She has had me chained in here for two years, fed upon bread and water, and an insufficient allowance of that. Oh! God, how I hate that woman, and how I long to avenge my wrongs!" "She is beyond the reach of both your hatred and your vengeance, Mrs. Colville. She is dead," said Mr. Shelton, solemnly. "Dead? Old Haidee Leveret dead? It cannot be true," said Haidee's poor victim, with incredulous joy shining in her eyes.