crime. Every madman is harmless up to a certain point--mild,
inoffensive, perhaps, up to the very moment in which he commits some
appalling crime. And then people cry out upon the want of prudence, the
want of common-sense which allowed such an act to be possible. No, Lady
Mary, I understand the benevolence of your motive, but I cannot permit
you to run such a risk.'

'I am convinced that the poor old creature is perfectly harmless,' said
Mary, with suppressed indignation. 'I shall certainly ask Lady
Maulevrier to speak to you on the subject. Perhaps her influence may
induce you to be a little more considerate to your unhappy relation.'

'Lady Mary, I beg you not to say a word to Lady Maulevrier on this
subject. You will do me the greatest injury if you speak of that man. I
entreat you--'

But Mary was gone. She passed Steadman with her head held high and her
eyes sparkling with anger. All that was generous, compassionate, womanly
in her nature was up in arms against her grandmother's steward. Of all
other things, Mary Haselden most detested cruelty; and she could see in
Steadman's opposition to her wish nothing but the most cold-hearted
cruelty to a poor dependent on his charity.

She went in at the stable door, shut and locked it, and put the key in
her pocket as usual. But she had little hope that this mode of access
would be left open to her. She knew enough of James Steadman's
character, from hearsay rather than from experience, to feel sure that
he would not easily give way. She was not surprised, therefore, on
returning from her ride on the following afternoon, to find the disused
harness-room half filled with trusses of straw, and the door of