Marion looked at Sallie as she crouched on the table. Her face was ashen, her eyes red and glaring, and her hair, which was always poor Sallie’s one beauty, fell in unkempt masses over her back and shoulders.
Not once did she take her burning gaze from the face of the orderly, and fierce, undying hatred was stamped upon her features.
“If you will only go away, I am sure I can calm her,” said Marion, bravely. “Sallie will not hurt me—even if she is crazy.”
“You can go, orderly,” said the physician, who was close to Marion. “I think this nurse can quiet the girl, and I don’t wish to resort to force if it can be avoided.”
Marion thanked him with a smile, and the orderly backed away with a grin of delight.
It was not always pleasant to be taken for a crazy woman’s husband.
“Sallie! Sallie! Don’t you know me?” asked Marion, softly, as she walked up slowly and stood beside the table.
The maniac did not notice her until the orderly had disappeared, then with a sigh of relief she dropped the sharp weapons that she had been clutching.
“He’ll never strike me again now, Marion,” she cried, shrilly, “I’ve done jest as yer said. I’ve defied him at last, an’ now I’m goin’ ter run away an’ go tew the city.”