In this cell was a huntsman, who had fractured his skull while hunting, and was perpetually hallooing after the hounds;—in that, the most melancholy of all, the grinning gibbering lunatic, the realization of "moody madness, laughing wild. " "Is she alive?" repeated the widow. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. “Do you know, I have been wondering what had become of you,” she said.
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