“I want you so much, Lucy. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. You’re a good friend. "Not materially, Mr. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. He paid the cab, and turned to follow her. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. In this cell was a huntsman, who had fractured his skull while hunting, and was perpetually hallooing after the hounds;—in that, the most melancholy of all, the grinning gibbering lunatic, the realization of "moody madness, laughing wild. It tore her apart.
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