“And yet the pity of it,” she said thoughtfully. “Even if she were restored to her right mind again, there is no home open to poor little Eva, unless the old people that sent her here would take her back. It is the saddest case in the world!” She was not aware that the superintendent of the asylum, Doctor St. Clair, was in the ward, until he spoke close to her elbow: “Do not give your kind heart any uneasiness over that, my dear Doctor Bertrand. If Miss Somerville ever recovers her reason, we can easily make her self-supporting by giving her a position here.” “That will be very kind of you,” the young lady replied quietly, and he turned affably to the new physician. “You find little Eva an interesting patient, as we all do. She is so pretty and childlike, it is hard to believe her the heroine of so terrible a scandal.” “It is impossible!” Doctor Rupert answered curtly, with a flash in the eyes under the long, drooping lashes, so that the astute superintendent, a middle-aged man himself, thought shrewdly: “Such a wonderful power has beauty in distress, that this callow young man believes in her innocence already, although nothing could be clearer than the evidence of her guilt. Dying men do not lie.” He shrugged his shoulders and dropped the subject, but walked on with them through the ward, making himself very cordial, and even confidential, after his fashion, by recurring to his own personal grievances, some arbitrary rulings of the board of directors at their session last week. They had a most reprehensible habit of clipping the doctor’s soaring wings. CHAPTER X. A CHORD OF MEMORY. Of his own choice, Doctor Rupert would have preferred any other work than this--to labor among the poor demented souls at Weston, some of them pitiable, some amusing, only a few, as in the case of little Eva, interesting. He ached to the core of his heart with yearning sympathy for the unfortunates, but not for all his pain would he desert his self-appointed task of watching over hapless Eva, whose wretched lot was cast among these lunatics. He found that Doctor Bertrand, the earnest young woman physician, and Doctor Merry, his other colleague, ably seconded him in every effort to alleviate the sadness of her fate. Flowers were at first given her, rousing a faint interest and pleasure. She would keep them in her hands until they faded and more were brought, brooding over them with tender eyes. Then they brought her novels and books of poetry. But it was some time before Eva showed any interest in these. The sweet flowers pleased her better.