ss to the blow from
her husband's cruel whip, her head thrown back, and a strange light in
her wild eyes. She was tied down in the bed, with a broad horse-girth
stretched across her breast, but she had wrenched one arm free, and
with it was beating time to her song on the bed-clothes. She caught
sight of Mr. Fraser at once, and seemed to recognize him, for she
stopped her singing and laughed.

"That's a pretty old song, isn't it?" she said. "Somebody taught it me
--who was it? Somebody--a long while ago. But I know another--I know
another. You'll like it; you are a clergyman, you know." And she began
again:

"Says the parson one day as I cursed a Jew,
Now do you not know that that is a sin?
Of you sailors I fear there are but a few
That St. Peter to heaven will ever let in.

"Says I, Mr. Parson, to tell you my mind,
Few sailors to knock were ever yet seen;
Those who travel by land may steer against wind
But we shape a course for Fiddler's Green."

Suddenly she stopped, and her mind wandered off to the scene of two
days previous with Arthur by the lake, and she began to quote the
words wrung from the bitterness of his heart.

"'You miserable woman, do you know what you are? Shame upon you! Were
you not married yesterday?' It is quite true, Arthur--oh, yes, quite
true! Say what you like of me, Arthur--I deserve it all; but oh!
Arthur, I love you so. Don't be hard upon me--I love you so, dear!
Kill me if you like, dear, but don't talk to me so. I shall go mad--I
shall go mad!" and she broke into a flood of weeping.

"Poor dear, she has been going on like that, off and on, all night. It
clean broke my heart to see it, and that's the holy truth," and Pigott
looked very much as though she were going to cry herself.

By this time Angela had ceased weeping, and was brooding sullenly,
with her face buried in the pillow.

"There is absolutely nothing to be done," said the doctor. "We can
only trust to her fine constitution and youth to pull her through. She
has received a series of dreadful mental shocks, and it is very
doubtful if she will ever get over them. It is a pity to think that
such a splendid creature may become permanently insane, is it not? You
must be very careful, Pigott, that she does not do herself an injury;
she is just in the state that she may throw herself out of the window
or cut her throat. And now I must be