pa remained insane, how was I to remove her from the
scene of her--alas! of her crime? If Philippa had become sane, her
position under my roof was extremely compromising. Again, if she were
insane, a jury might acquit her, when the snow melted and revealed all
that was left of the baronet. But, in that case, what pleasure or profit
could I derive from the society of an insane Philippa? Supposing, on the
other hand, she was sane, then was I not an 'accessory after the fact,'
and liable to all the pains and penalties of such a crime?

Here the final question arose and shook its ghostly finger at me: 'Can
a sane man be an accessory after the fact in a murder committed by an
insane woman?'

So far as I know, there is no monograph on this subject, or certainly I
would have consulted it for the purpose of this Christmas Annual.

All these questions swept like lightning through my brain, as I knelt by
Philippa's bedside, and awaited her first word.

'_Bon jour_, Philippine,' I said.

'Basil,' she replied, 'where am I?'

'Under my roof--your brother's roof,' I said.

'Brother! oh, stow that bosh!' she said, turning languidly away.

There could not be a doubt of it, Philippa was herself again!

I rose pensively, and wandered out towards the stables.

Covered with white snow over a white macintosh, I met by the coach-house
door William, the Sphynx.

The White Groom!

Twiddling a small object, _a door-key of peculiar make_, in his hand, he
grinned stolidly at me.

'She's a rum un, squire, your sister, she be,' chuckled the Sphynx.

'William,' I said, 'go to Roding, and bring back two nurses, even if
they have to hire twenty drags to draw them here. And, William, bring
some drugs in the drags.'

By setting him on this expedition I got rid of the Sphynx. Was he a
witness? _He was certainly acquainted with the nature of an oath!_

CHAPTER VI.--Hard As Nails.

OF course when I woke next morning my first thought was of Philippa;
my second was of the weather. Always interesting, meteorological
observation becomes peculiarly absorbing when it entirely depends on the
thermometer whether you shall, or shall not, be arrested as an accessory
after the fact, or (as lawyers say) _post-mortem_. My heart sank into
my boots, or rather (for I had not yet dressed) into my slippers, when I
found that, for the first time during sixteen days, the snow had
ceased falling. I threw up the sash, the cold air cut me like a knife.