She drew the warm covers up carefully over the patient, brushed back the disordered golden hair with a coarse but kindly hand, extinguished the light, and, taking up the tray of dishes, went out, carefully locking the door after her. In the hall she encountered Doctor Heath about entering the room of the shrieking patient. He paused at sight of her. "How is your new patient?" he inquired, abruptly. "A little excited at present, sir. She appeared very quiet and sensible at first, but after the violent patient began his shrieks she became violent and wild, sir!" "Did she tell you her name?" he inquired. Mary Brown replied in the negative. "Her case is rather peculiar," said Doctor Heath. "She is the victim of a strange hallucination. A wealthy young lady of New York committed suicide last summer under very romantic circumstances. This young person imagines herself to be the identical young lady who killed herself, and asserts that she was resurrected by a physician and his friend, who detain her in durance vile because the latter wishes to marry her. She will tell you her story, of course. Do not contradict her, but gently humor her. She will not give you much trouble, I think, as it is a mere case of melancholy madness. The young lady she personates was named Miss Lawrence. Be particular and call her by that name, Mary." "I will, sir," said Mary, passing on. CHAPTER XXXI. Mrs. Vance read in the daily papers an account on the inquest that had been held over the dead bodies of her two victims. She was surprised and troubled at first because her scheme for burning the house down and destroying the bodies had failed, but as she saw that no clew to the perpetrator of the poisoning had been discovered, her courage rose in proportion. "I am free now," she thought, with a guilty thrill of triumph. "The two old harpies who preyed upon me are dead, and their secret with them. No one will ever discover my agency in their death. Suspicion would never dream of fastening upon me. Who would believe that these white hands could be stained with crime?" She held them up, admiring their delicate whiteness and the costly rings that glittered upon them, then went to the mirror and looked at her handsome reflection. "I am beautiful," she said to herself with a proud smile. "There is no reason why I should not win Lancelot Darling. A woman can marry whom she will when she is gifted with beauty and grace like mine. And I will yet be Lancelot Darling's wife. I solemnly swear that I will!" In the exuberance of her triumph and her pride in herself, she ordered the carriage and went out to spend the money she had rescued from Peter and Haidee in some new feminine adornment wherewith to deck her beauty for the eyes of the obdurate young millionaire. Time flew past and brought the cold and freezing days of November. The latter part of it was exceedingly cold, and snow covered the ground with a thick, white crust.