“Are you sure that he is mad?” interrupted Maria with eagerness.  Jemima quitted the room, without replying.

“No, no, he certainly is not!” exclaimed Maria, answering herself; “the man who could write those observations was not disordered in his intellects.”

She sat musing, gazing at the moon, and watching its motion as it seemed to glide under the clouds.  Then, preparing for bed, she thought, “Of what use could I be to him, or he to me, if it be true that he is unjustly confined?—­Could he aid me to escape, who is himself more closely watched?—­Still I should like to see him.”  She went to bed, dreamed of her child, yet woke exactly at half after five o’clock, and starting up, only wrapped a gown around her, and ran to the window.  The morning was chill, it was the latter end of September; yet she did not retire to warm herself and think in bed, till the sound of the servants, moving about the house, convinced her that the unknown would not walk in the garden that morning.  She was ashamed at feeling disappointed; and began to reflect, as an excuse to herself, on the little objects which attract attention when there is nothing to divert the mind; and how difficult it was for women to avoid growing romantic, who have no active duties or pursuits.

At breakfast, Jemima enquired whether she understood French? for, unless she did, the stranger’s stock of books was exhausted.  Maria replied in the affirmative; but forbore to ask any more questions respecting the person to whom they belonged.  And Jemima gave her a new subject for contemplation, by describing the person of a lovely maniac, just brought into an adjoining chamber.  She was singing the pathetic ballad of old Rob* with the most heart-melting falls and pauses.  Jemima had half-opened the door, when she distinguished her voice, and Maria stood close to it, scarcely daring to respire, lest a modulation should escape her, so exquisitely sweet, so passionately wild.  She began with sympathy to pourtray to herself another victim, when the lovely warbler flew, as it were, from the spray, and a torrent of unconnected exclamations and questions burst from her, interrupted by fits of laughter, so horrid, that Maria shut the door, and, turning her eyes up to heaven, exclaimed—­“Gracious God!”

     * A blank space about ten characters in length occurs here
     in the original edition [Publisher’s note].

Several minutes elapsed before Maria could enquire respecting the rumour of the house (for this poor wretch was obviously not confined without a cause); and then Jemima could only tell her, that it was said, “she had been married, against her inclination, to a rich old man, extremely jealous (no wonder, for she was a charming creature); and that, in consequence of his treatment, or something which hung on her mind, she had, during her first lying-in, lost her senses.”

What a subject of meditation—­even to the very confines of madness.