ainst it, cried aloud, and
would not be throttled, nor thrust back into the dreary dungeon.

Fred listened to her ravings in stunned, helpless astonishment. His
trial had been so much less intense, after all. Could it be possible she
had suffered this as she sat so like a statue in the little circle,
disdaining every aid? His startled eyes questioned the doctor.

"Yes," was the reply: "she has been too much alone. She has brooded over
these things until she has become morbid and imbittered. The curse of
fashionable life is, that it provides a woman with no resources against
a dark day, no wisdom, no faith in any thing outside of herself. And
then we wonder at insanity! A thousand times better that the body should
be racked with pain, if so be that the soul is purified in passing
through these fires. It may be her salvation."

CHAPTER XX.

THE morning's mail brought to Darcy the letter he had hardly dared
expect. It was brief but cordial. Would he come to New York, and the
matter could be arranged to his satisfaction? "He had not been very
eager to ask favors."

"We'll weather through, Winston!" he cried joyfully. "I must go to New
York. Miss McLeod has sent."

Then he ran off home, and arrayed himself in spotless linen and
immaculate cuffs, complained a little that Jane Morgan should be away,
and begged his mother to ask in some of the pretty, friendly girls
living in the next house, if he should not be home to supper. There was
a late train that he would be quite sure of, if the business detained
him until night. Then he kissed her tenderly: she was still a little
shaken from her last night's vigil.

He went around by Maverick's office, though it took him out of his way;
but he must hear some word of Miss Lawrence.

"She is very ill, and will be for some time to come; but I am
wonderfully interested in the case. It's a brain-fever. The girl is a
study in herself. She has the force and power, and capability of both
suffering and endurance, that would answer for half a dozen souls; but
it has come pretty nearly to a wreck. Did you ever know much about her?"

"No. I once spent an evening with Miss Barry when she was there," and
Jack flushed. "It was before Mr. Lawrence died. They used to be great
friends, you know."

"And it ended like most women's friendships, eh?" with a peculiar light
in his eyes as he spoke.

"No: it broke off in the middle; regards have a trick of doing that when
they're not end