, and ought to be taken care of before he tears
the house down over our heads, or does some dreadful thing.'

'That's so, and I will see St. Claire to-morrow and find out the proper
steps to be taken,' said Frank.

That night he dreamed of windows with iron bars across them, and
strait-jackets, into which he was thrusting his brother, while a face,
the loveliest he had ever seen, looked reproachfully at him, with tears
in the soft blue eyes, and a pleading pathos in the voice which said
words he could not understand, for the language was a strange one to him
who only knew his own.

With a start Frank awoke, and found his wife sitting up in bed,
listening intently to sounds which came from the hall, where some one
was evidently moving around.

'Hark!' she said, in a whisper. 'Do you hear that? There's a burglar in
the house after my diamonds. What shall I do?'

But Frank knew that no burglar ever made the noise this disturber of
their rest was making and stepping out of bed he opened the door
cautiously, and looking out, saw his brother, wrapped in a long
dressing-gown, with a candle in his hand, opening one window after
another until the hall was filled with the cold night wind, which swept
down the long corridor banging a door at the farther end and setting all
the rest to rattling.

'Oh! Frank, is that you?' Arthur said. 'I am sorry I woke you, but I
smelled an awful smell somewhere, and traced it to the hall, which you
see I am airing; better shut the door or you will take cold. The house
is full of malaria.'

He was certainly crazy; there could be no doubt of it; and next morning,
when Mr. St. Claire entered his office, he found Frank Tracy waiting
there to consult him with regard to the legal steps necessary to procure
his brother's incarceration in a lunatic asylum.

Arthur St. Claire's face wore a grave, troubled look as he listened, for
he remembered a time, years before, when he, too, had been interested in
the lunatic asylum at Worcester, where a beautiful young girl, his wife,
had been confined. She was dead now, and the Florida roses were growing
over her grave, but there were many sad, regretful memories connected
with her short life, and not the least sad of these were those connected
with the asylum.

'If it were to do over again I would not put her there, unless she
became dangerous,' he had often said to himself, and he said much the
same thing to Frank Tracy with regard to his brother.

'K