reat；　to　bear　her　pany　and　be　at　hand　to　give　her　aid　in　the　paroxysms；　when　my　wife　is　prompted　by　her　familiar　to　burn　people　in　their　beds　at　night；　to　stab　them；　to　bite　their　flesh　from　their　bones；　and　so　on—”

“Sir；”　I　interrupted　him；　“you　are　inexorable　for　that　unfortunate　lady：　you　speak　of　her　with　hate—with　vindictive　antipathy。　It　is　cruel—she　cannot　help　being　mad。”

“Jane；　my　little　darling　（so　I　will　call　you；　for　so　you　are）；　you　don’t　know　what　you　are　talking　about；　you　misjudge　me　again：　it　is　not　because　she　is　mad　I　hate　her。　If　you　were　mad；　do　you　think　I　should　hate　you？”

“I　do　indeed；　sir。”

“Then　you　are　mistaken；　and　you　know　nothing　about　me；　and　nothing　about　the　sort　of　love　of　which　I　am　capable。　Every　atom　of　your　flesh　is　as　dear　to　me　as　my　own：　in　pain　and　sickness　it　would　still　be　dear。　Your　mind　is　my　treasure；　and　if　it　were　broken；　it　would　be　my　treasure　still：　if　you　raved；　my　arms　should　confine　you；　and　not　a　strait　waistcoat—your　grasp；　even　in　fury；　would　have　a　charm　for　me：　if　you　flew　at　me　as　wildly　as　that　woman　did　this　morning；　I　should　receive　you　in　an　embrace；　at　least　as　fond　as　it　would　be　restrictive。　I　should　not　shrink　from　you　with　disgust　as　I　did　from　her：　in　your　quiet　moments　you　should　have　no　watcher　and　no　nurse　but　me；　and　I　could　hang　over　you　with　untiring　tenderness；　though　you　gave　me　no　smile　in　return；　and　never　weary　of　gazing　into　your　eyes；　though　they　had　no　longer　a　ray