He then descended; and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. Let the law put its hand on his shoulder—if it could! But at present he was at liberty, and he purposed to remain in that state. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness.
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