Kate returned, as you know, with me.

She, too, heard the tragical story, and had nothing but pity and prayer for the tempest-tossed soul.
"When we reached Canada, he was still weak and ill.

I brought him here under an assumed name, and he remains shut up in his rooms all day, and only ventures out at night to breathe the fresh air.

His mind has never recovered its tone since that brain fever.

He has become a monomaniac on one subject, the dread of being discovered, and hanged for murder.
Nothing will tempt him from his solitude--nothing can induce him to venture out, except at midnight, when all are asleep.