"Come, now, let me help you to bed, miss, I want to tuck you up warm and comfortable before I leave you."
Lily submitted patiently, but as she laid her tired head on the pillow, she asked, suddenly:
"Is Dr. Heath a good man, Mary?"
"La, now, miss, you must judge of that yourself. You will see him often enough before you get well," said Mary Brown.
Lily was about to open her lips to refute the charge of her illness, when she was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a wild and piercing shriek which seemed to come from the room that was next her own. In her alarm she sprang up and caught Mary Brown's arms in both hers, shuddering with surprise and terror.
"Oh! what is it?" she cried, as the wild shriek was repeated again and again, mingled with frenzied shouts and peal after peal of frightful, demoniacal laughter.
"It's only one of the sick ones, miss," said Mary Brown, uneasily. "Don't fret yourself, my dear. Lie down again. He will soon be quiet, and then you can go to sleep."
A horrible suspicion flashed into Lily's mind.
"Mary Brown, you have been deceiving me with your kind face and friendly talk. This is not a hospital for the sick. It is a private mad-house—is it not?"
"Well, it is for people who are sick in their heads," admitted Mary.