“But in another hour the sky grew dark and lurid, and I noticed that Alfred grew strangely restless.  His cheeks flushed, his eyes had a wild look of terror in them, he trembled and started, and in spite of all my efforts to soothe him, grew irritable and gloomy.  Yet he had just asked me to marry him, and I had promised I would.  He had called me ’his wife,’ and I had told him again my suspicions about Dr. Orman, and vowed to nurse him myself back to perfect health.  We had talked, too, of going to Europe, and in the eagerness and delight of our new plans, had wandered quite up to the little pine forest at the top of the hill.

“Then I noticed Alfred’s excited condition, and saw also that we were going to have a thunder storm.  There was an empty log hut not far away, and I urged Alfred to try and reach it before the storm, broke.  But he became suddenly like a child in his terror, and it was only with the greatest difficulty I got him within its shelter.

“As peal after peal of thunder crashed above us, Alfred seemed to lose all control of himself, and, seriously offended, I left him, nearly sobbing, in a corner, and went and stood by myself in the open door.  In the very height of the storm I saw my father, Dr. Orman and three of our workmen coming through the wood.  They evidently suspected our sheltering-place, for they came directly toward it.

“‘Alfred!’ shouted Dr. Orman, in the tone of an angry master, ’where are you, sir?  Come here instantly.’

“My pettedness instantly vanished, and I said:  ’Doctor, you have no right to speak to Alfred in that way.  He is going to be my husband, and I shall not permit it any more.’

“‘Miss Wakefield,’ he answered, ‘this is sheer folly.  Look here!’

“I turned, and saw Alfred crouching in a corner, completely paralyzed with terror; and yet, when Dr. Orman spoke to him, he rose mechanically as a dog might follow his master’s call.

“’I am sorry, Miss Wakefield, to destroy your fine romance.  Mr. Alfred Compton is, as you perceive, not fit to marry any lady.  In fact, I am his—­keeper.’”

“Oh, Aunt Phoebe!  Surely he was not a lunatic!”

“So they said, Julia.  His frantic terror was the only sign I saw of it; but Dr. Orman told my father that he was at times really dangerous, and that he was annually paid a large sum to take charge of him, as he became uncontrollable in an asylum.”

“Did you see him again?”

“No.  I found a little note in the rose bush, saying that he was not mad; that he remembered my promise to be his wife, and would surely come some day and claim me.  But they left in three days, and Melissa, whose wedding outfit was curtailed in consequence, twitted me very unkindly about my fine crazy lover.  It was a little hard on me, for he was the only lover I ever had.  Melissa and Jane both married, and went west with their husbands; I lived on at Ryelands, a faded little old maid, until my uncle Joshua sent for me to come to New York and keep his fine house for him.  You know that he left me all he had when he died, nearly two years ago.  Then I sent for you.  I remembered my own lonely youth, and thought I would give you a fair chance, dear.”