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Mrs. Dallas declared that she suffered--like her daughter--from nervous headaches. To cure these she submitted frequently to hypnotic treatment at the hands of Dido, who was gifted with a strong will. On the night the devil-stick was stolen she had been hypnotized, but she did not know what she did while under the influence. While in the trance--as it may be called--she never knew what she did, and she had hitherto had every confidence in Dido, as an old and faithful servant, that she--Dido--would not induce her to do wrong things while hypnotized. She had never seen the devil-stick, either at the house of Major Jen or in her own. The negress had prepared a drug for the cure of headaches, which witness believed was similar--as was judged from the perfume--to the poison contained in the devil-stick. She knew that her daughter wished to marry the deceased, but for certain reasons--not pertinent to the case--she had declined to sanction the engagement. She would not have permitted her daughter to marry Dr. Etwald, as she did not like him or approve of the influence which he exercised over Dido. She knew that prisoner possessed the Voodoo stone, and by means of it could make any member of the black race do his will. Prisoner was a declared enemy of the deceased, as a jealousy existed between them on account of her daughter. In presence of witnesses prisoner had threatened deceased. She knew nothing of the theft of the body. Jen rose to his feet and stretched out one hand toward Arkel. And there I sat in my front room, being embraced in a perfume of everybody's lilacs and hawthorns and affectionate interest and moonlight, with a letter in my hand from the man whose two photographs and letters I used to keep locked up in my desk. Is it any wonder I tingled when he told me that he had never come back because he couldn't have me, and that now the minute he landed in England he was going to lay his heart at my feet? I added his colonial honours to his prostrate heart myself, and my own beat at the prospect. All the eight years faded away, and I was again back in the old garden down at Aunt Adeline's cottage saying good-bye, folded up in his arms. That's the way my memory put the scene to me, but the word "folded" made me remember that blue muslin dress again. I had promised to keep it and wear it for him when he came back—and I couldn't forget that the blue belt was just twenty-three inches and mine is—no, I won't write it. I had got that dress out of the old trunk not ten minutes after I had read the letter and measured it..

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"I'll never learn to be composed and considerate," she sighed as she crept in beside the slumbering Judith. "I'm crazy for Elinor to finish that lovely study of hers, and yet I'd wake her up just for my silly whims. She's got to get it done tomorrow if she can. Wish I could help her. Thank goodness, mine's done at last," and she drifted off to sleep with a jumble of prize designs and golden dreams for the future mingling with that recurring memory of Doris Leighton's hardening face as she spoke of her study for the library panel. "How came this here?" he asked the housemaid, pointing to the scrap of linen. "She isn't in mourning," said Elinor, making a discovery. "I wonder who she is. She's impressive enough to be the president of the board, and Bruce says that's the most important person in the place." "Just look at that mournful creature." Patricia motioned with her eyebrows to the opposite side of the room, where a large, stout young woman in somber cloak and wide-plumed hat was eating her way through a chocolate éclair with just such an air of tragic and settled melancholy as one sometimes sees in a child whose grief is momentarily its most cherished possession..