Clifford was shocked. That the little, faded woman was a monster, an unnatural and depraved creature without moral sense, was clear. The Colonel rose again, locked up his desk and held out his hand to the young man.
“Go,” said he, gravely, but kindly. “You have done all you could for me, for us, and I thank you. Now you must leave us to take our chance. And remember what I have said: There is very little cause to fear on my daughter’s account.”
Thus dismissed, Clifford took leave of the old man reluctantly and started for Courtstairs, where he easily found a lodging for the night.
On the following morning, at daybreak, there arrived at the County Lunatic Asylum, sixteen miles from Stroan, a weird, wan object, shoeless, wild-eyed, voiceless with cold and with terror.
The creature cried when the porter came to her summons:
“Take me in, or I shall do myself some harm. Take me in! Take me in!”
It was Miss Theodora.
No lunatic who had ever been admitted within the walls of the asylum had looked half so mad as she did. The doctors saw her, and advised her detention. And when the storm broke over her, and the hue and cry reached the asylum, there was no doubt expressed by any of the doctors as to her insanity. She was duly brought up before the magistrates, remanded, brought up again; always with the same result. She smiled, she chatted; she appeared wholly unconscious of her position, wholly irresponsible. And at the last her trial for murder was avoided, the doctors all certifying that she was unfit to plead.
And when it was announced that Miss Theodora would be confined during Her Majesty’s pleasure, every one concurred in the justice of the decision except Colonel Bostal, who said to Clifford, when they were alone:
“I told you she would get off! She is so clever.”