"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. Now tell me, if you can, something about the man who calls himself Valade. ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. Anna, in her strange striking way, was radiantly beautiful. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. I did what I could to comfort her but she died in terrible pain.
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