e said, "I supposed you were at school."

One or two other rational remarks of the sort, and mamma's perfect
_sang-froid_ so deceived me that I decided the supposed lunatic must be
perfectly sane. In a moment, however, he looked somewhat uneasy, and
said:

"I have a long story to tell your niece, ma'am, but I feel a little
bashful about speaking before so many young ladies."

"Would you like to see me alone, then?" said mamma promptly; "you would
not object to telling your story to a married woman."

Then signing to us to leave the room, she followed us to the door, and
_breathing_ rather than whispering, "Run for Bernard," returned.

It appears that the man grew more excitable when alone with mamma, and
the story he told her was not a cheerful one to hear.

"It began," he said, "five years ago, by my father cutting his throat
with a razor. They say he was crazy, and," with a fiendish chuckle,
"some people say I am crazy too."

"Indeed!" said mamma, sympathetically, "how sad!"

"This we may call the first scene in the story," he added, although
what connection there was between suicide and his proposed marriage
with Ida, poor mamma could not imagine.

I could half fill my journal with the rambling, senseless, and menacing
remarks that Hudson made to mamma, adding emphasis to his discourse by
whirling a pair of very long and sharp scissors close to her eyes (he
was further armed with two razors, we subsequently learnt). Ida, he
said, first appeared to him in a vision--a beautiful young girl in
distress, who appealed to him for aid, but some one seemed to stand
between them--a tall woman dressed as a Sister of Charity (evidently
mamma, in her mourning dress and long crape veil). He then enlarged
upon the awful punishment that inevitably overtook those who opposed
the Will of Providence (i.e., his marriage with Ida): death by some
violent means being unavoidable. At this point, the scissors were
whirled more excitedly than ever, and Hudson's eyes glared with rage.
I need not say that mamma feared every moment would be her last; but
still preserving a calm exterior, she never took her eyes off him for
an instant, and merely remarking, "It is quite warm here; shall we not
sit upon the piazza?" accompanied him there, and sat down close beside
him, that he might not suspect she feared him. The moments seemed
endless until Bernard's heavy tread was heard upon the kitchen stairs.

"Excuse me a moment," said mamm