Do you like the proposal ?" "Why, I have been mad for a long time," replied Mrs Forster; "the conduct of my husband and my son has been too much for my nerves; but I don't like the idea of actually going to a madhouse.

Could not--" "O dear, marm!" cried Betsy, running into the room, "there's a whole posse of people about the house; they want to take you to the town jail, for murdering Mr Spinney.

What shall I say to them?
I'm feared they'll break in." "Go and tell them that Mrs Forster is too ill to be taken out of bed, and that she is out of her senses--d'ye hear, Betsy, tell them all she is _stark staring mad_!" "Yes, I will, marm," replied Betsy, wiping her eyes as she left the room.
Miss Dragwell walked to the window.

Although the report spread by Betsy had collected a crowd opposite the house, still there was no attempt at violence.
"I'm afraid that it's too late," said the young lady, turning from the window.

"What a crowd! and how angry they seem to be! you must be hanged now!" "O no! I'll be mad--I'll be anything, my dear Miss Dragwell." "Well, then, we must be quick--don't put your gown on--petticoats are better--I'll dress you up." Miss Dragwell rummaged the drawers, and collecting a variety of feathers and coloured ribbons, pinned them over the bandages which encircled Mrs Forster's head; then pulling out a long-tailed black coat of her husband's which had been condemned, forced her arms through it, and buttoned it in front.