that night, for the event which had just taken place had aroused more than one refractory patient to a state bordering on frenzy. I found I had to use my soothing powers to the best advantage.
Early in the morning I went to Miss Whittaker's room to inquire after her. I found her in an alarming state, highly feverish, and inclined to be delirious.
"Pore thing, it's partly her madness, no doubt," remarked Nurse Hooper; "but she do talk queer. It's all about giving up her will—as if anyone wanted to take it from her, pore lamb, and that she'd like to see Dr. Anderson."
"Do you know who he is?" I inquired.
"No, sir, I never heard his name before."
"I beckoned the nurse to the door."
I looked again at my patient, and then beckoned the nurse to the door of the room.
"Look here," I said, "I see by your manner that you are anxious to be kind to that poor young girl."
"Kind? Who wouldn't be kind?" exclaimed Hooper. "She's the nicest young lady, and the least selfish, as I ever come across."
"But you know what she is here for?"
"Yes." Nurse Hooper tossed her head disdainfully. "I'm aware of what they say. You don't catch me believing of 'em. Why, that young lady, she wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone kill a man. No, no, I know the good kind when I see 'em, and she's one."
"I will sit with her for a little," I said. "You can go and have some breakfast."
While the nurse was away Miss Whittaker opened her eyes. She looked full at me, and I saw that she was quite conscious again.
"You are the new doctor?" she said.
"Yes," I replied, "Dr. Halifax."
"I can't quite remember, but I think you were very kind to me last night?" she said again, and her sad eyes scrutinized me anxiously.
"I naturally did all I could for you," I replied. "It was very brave of you to put out the fire: you saved us all. I was bound to help you."
"I remember about Tommy now," she said, with a little shudder. "Tommy was awful last night. I cannot soon forget his face."
"Try not to think of it," I said. "Shut your eyes and let your imagination wander to pleasant things."
She gave a long shiver.
"What pleasant things are there in an asylum?" she answered. "And I am, you know I am, shut up here for life. I am only twenty-three, and I am shut up here for life!"
There was not a scrap of excitement in her manner. She never even raised her voice, but the dull despair of her tone gave me a sort of mental shiver.
"Forgive me for forgetting," I said. "Some time, perhaps, you will be well enough to tell me something of your story. In the mean time, believe in my sympathy. Now I must attend to your physical condition. Are your burns very painful?"
"Not for the last hour, but I feel weak. and as if I were drifting away somewhere, and it seems to me that my life must be nearly over."
"Don't say that," I replied. "At your age, life is little more than really begun." Then I added, driven by an impulse which I could not resist, "It is my earnest wish and desire to help you. I have a strong feeling that there is some terrible mistake here. I would do anything to prove your innocence, and your sanity."
"Thank you," she answered. Her eyes grew dim for a moment—she turned her head away. "Thank you," she repeated again, more faintly.
Nurse Hooper came into the room, and I hurried downstairs.
After breakfast I spoke to Jephson.
"Did you ever happen to hear of a man of the name of Walter Anderson, a doctor?" I inquired.
"Only from Miss Whittaker," he replied.
