It was a bitter blow to Raymond, to have Margaret thought guilty, but he did not think of that as he sat by her side, or walked up and down in the little hallway just outside of her door.  Her staring eyes haunted him and he longed for a look that should tell him her reason had once more asserted itself.

The doctor had come and gone twice and had promised to come again that evening.  Slowly the hours wore away.  The nurse had gone below to prepare herself something to eat, and Raymond stood by the suffering one’s bedside.  He saw the eyelids of the one he loved quiver slightly.

“Margaret!” he said softly, bending over her.

There was no response and he repeated the name several times.  Then her eyes opened full.

“Where am I?” she asked vacantly.

“You are safe, with me,” he answered and took her hand.

“With you, Raymond?  Where?”

“At the home of a lady who is going to take care of you for the present.”

“How queer!  I thought I was at my own home.”

“We thought it best to bring you here.  Miss Sampson will do all she can for you.  The doctor said you must be kept very quiet.”  He smoothed down her hair.  “You have had a terrible trial, my dear.”

“A trial?  I don’t remember it.  What was it?” She stared vacantly at him.  “Oh, how queer my head feels!” And she put one cold hand to her temple.

“Never mind trying to think now, Margaret.  Just take it easy.  The doctor will come back in a little while and he will give you something that will make you all right again.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Only four hours.  Now please, don’t worry.”

“I can’t—­I can’t think—­it’s all like a terribly dark cloud, Raymond.”  She stared in a wild fashion and then a look of untold horror crossed her drawn features.  “Ah!  Yes, yes, I remember now!  I remember!” She shook from head to foot.  “I remember!  The courtroom!  And those many men and women!  And the ring—­our engagement ring—­think of that, Raymond!  They found blood on it, blood!” And she shivered again.

“Margaret, dearest, you must try to keep quiet,” he interrupted soothingly.  “It will all come out right, I feel certain of it.”

“Right?  I don’t know what you mean by that word.  Was I on trial, or what?”

“No, not on trial.  It was simply the coroner’s inquest.  But don’t think of it, dear.”  He tried to brush back her hair, but she stopped him.  The wild look in her eyes was increasing.

“The inquest?  Oh, yes, I know now, and they said—­they said—­” She gave a piercing scream.  “They said I had killed her and killed my own father!  Yes, that I had killed them!  Do you hear, Raymond, I had killed them!” She sat up and motioned him away.  “Do not touch me!  Do not come near me!”

“Margaret!” he interrupted appealingly.

“No! no!  It is too late, too late!” Her voice sank to a hoarse whisper.  “I see it all—­the blood on the ring, the chloroform, our quarrels, and what she said to me, and then, and then—­” She gave another scream.  “Go away! go away!  You must not come near me again!”