of somebody she had loved,--I cannot tell why; and without
thinking I looked at her, and said, 'Dear aunt Annie, tell me, you are
not really mad, are you?' Then she turned very pale and began to cry, so
that I was frightened, and called the nurse, and went away. I never told
anybody, because it seemed so foolish of me, and I thought I had been
unkind, and had hurt her feelings. But after that she did not seem to
want to see me when I came, and so I have thought a great deal about it.
Do you see? Perhaps there is not much connection."

"I think you ought to have told some one; your father, for instance," I
said. "It is very interesting."

"I have told you, though it is so long since it happened," she answered;
and then she added, quickly, "Shall you tell Professor Cutter?"

"No," I replied, after a moment's hesitation. "I do not think I shall.
Should you like me to tell him?"

"Oh, no," she exclaimed quickly, "I should much rather you would not."

"Why?" I inquired. "I agree with you, but I should like to know your
reason."

"I think Professor Cutter knows more already than he will tell you or
me"---- She checked herself, and then continued in a lower voice: "It is
prejudice, of course, but I do not like him. I positively cannot bear
the sight of him."

"I fancy he knows that you do not like him," I remarked.

"Tell me, Miss Carvel, do you know anything of the reason why Madame
Patoff became insane? If you do know, you must not tell me what it was,
because your father does not wish me to hear it. But I should like to be
sure whether you know all about it or not; whether you and I judge her
from the same point of view, or whether you are better instructed than I
am."

"I know nothing about it," said Hermione, quietly.

She sat gazing into the great fire, one small hand supporting her chin,
and the other resting upon the sharp white head of Fang, who never moved
from her knee. There was a pause, during which we were both wondering
what strange circumstance could have brought the unhappy woman to her
present condition, whether it were that of real or of assumed insanity.

"I do not know," she repeated, at last. "I wish I did; but I suppose it
was something too dreadful to be told. There are such dreadful things in
the world, you know."

"Yes, I know there are," I answered, gravely; and in truth I was
persuaded that the prime cause must have been extraordinary indeed,
since even John Carvel had said that he co