“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. 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. ‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly. She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head.
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