St. Claire said, wonderingly.
'Yes,' Arthur continued, 'I was only out three months ago. I wrote
occasionally to Frank and Gretchen, but did not tell them where I was.
They called it a _maison de sante_, and treated me well because I paid
well, but the sight of so many crazy people made me worse, and if I had
staid I should have been mad as the maddest of them. As it was, I forgot
almost everything that ever happened, and fancied I was an Austrian. As
soon as I came out I was better, though I was not quite myself till I
got to Liverpool. Then things came back to me. Stand by me, St. Claire.
I can see I am in the way, and Frank would like to be rid of me; but
stand by me, and don't let them do it.'
His manner was very pleading, and like one who was in fear of something,
and remembering the past when a golden-haired girl had begged him to
save her from iron bars and bolts, Mr. St. Claire assured him of his
support against any steps which might be taken to prove him mad enough
for the asylum.
'But I would not come for Gretchen any more,' he said. 'I would give her
a rest. Who is she?'
Instantly the old look of cunning came into Arthur's eyes, as he
replied:
'She is Gretchen;' and then he walked toward the carriage, while Mr.
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