A great change had come over her.

   She was awake!

   I became at once a prey to the wildest anxiety.

   The difficulties of my position for the first time revealed themselves to me. If Philippa remained insane, how was I to remove her from the scene of her—alas! of her crime? If Philippa had become sane, her position under my roof was extremely compromising. Again, if she were insane, a jury might acquit her, when the snow melted and revealed all that was left of the baronet. But, in that case, what pleasure or profit could I derive from the society of an insane Philippa? Supposing, on the other hand, she was sane, then was I not an 'accessory after the fact,' and liable to all the pains and penalties of such a crime?

   Here the final question arose and shook its ghostly finger at me: 'Can a sane man be an accessory after the fact in a murder committed by an insane woman?'

   So far as I know, there is no monograph on this subject, or certainly I would have consulted it for the purpose of this Christmas Annual.

   All these questions swept like lightning through my brain, as I knelt by Philippa's bedside, and awaited her first word.

   '

    Bon jour

   , Philippine,' I said.

   'Basil,' she replied, 'where am I?'

   'Under my roof—your brother's roof,' I said.

   'Brother! oh, stow that bosh!' she said, turning languidly away.

   There could not be a doubt of it, Philippa was herself again!

   I rose pensively, and wandered out towards the stables.

   Covered with white snow over a white macintosh, I met by the coach-house door William, the Sphynx.

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