FUN!

Helen Dilt's brain had withstood the shock of the torture to which she had been subjected by the human hyena who presided over that establishment, called a "first-class private asylum, where excellent care is guaranteed for those unfortunates who are mentally deranged."

It was Tige's business to drive her crazy or kill her, and apart from the sum to be made by boarding her after being made mad, the fiend cared very little which fate she assigned to Helen.

"I must try a few more tortures on her," muttered the tigress, "and if she don't begin to weaken soon, I'll take the bull by the horns and prepare her for transplanting."

The wretch laughed at her own facetiousness, and at once took steps to have some more "fun," as she called it.

Perhaps it was fun to her.

If everything that a person enjoys is fun, then it was fun for her to torture her patients and watch the exhibition of their anguish.

Poor Helen!

It was enough to make a heart of adamant soften to see her lying there, quivering and shivering.

It was enough to cause the stoniest eyes to shed tears of blood.

But Tige was not a human being.

It would be a libel on the whole human race to call her so.

She was rather a form of flesh and blood, without feeling, without heart, the spirit, the life, which animated her being that of Satan himself, or else one of his arch fiends.

A few words had been received from Brown.

They were to the effect that Tige was to endeavor, above all things, to actually craze Helen. It suited his ends better. But in case it was impossible to drive her mad, then to kill her.

A keeper entered Helen's room, removed the gag, and motioned her to eat.

She shook her head. She could not eat. He then offered her some liquor or wine, but this she also refused.

"You must take something to keep up your strength," the keeper said. "I've got orders to see that you take some wine, and in this establishment orders has got to be obeyed, even if I have to force the stuff down your grub-tube."

He placed a glass of wine to Helen's lips, and when she would not take it—fearing poison—he throttled her, and when she gasped let the wine run down her throat, almost strangling her.

The keeper waited.

Finding that the wine was undrugged, so far as she could tell, and feeling the generous glow it produced, she drank another glass without compelling the keeper to resort to violence.

"Will you eat now?"

"No."

"Ain't you hungry?"

"Not a bit."

"Better eat it," said the fellow. "Patients is never sure here when they'll get another meal. If you ain't hungry now, you might better eat this grub ag'in the time when you will be."

But Helen motioned the food away.

She could not eat.

Before taking his leave, the fellow replaced the gag. When Helen saw him take it up, and divined what he intended to do, she filled her lungs for screaming.

But the keeper's eyes were quick ones.

He was accustomed to similar scenes, and quick as a flash had Helen by the throat, and choked the first shriek short off.

"Now be quiet, curse you!" he hissed, as the poor girl's tongue began to protrude. "You're mighty slow in learning that it ain't best to kick against the pricks in this 'ere shebang."

Letting go of Helen's throat now, he deftly applied the gag before she could recover sufficient breath to finish the cry for help which he had choked down.

Then he left her.

An hour later she had another visitor.

It was Tige.

Helen was a brave girl. She had proved her courage when in the cellar beneath the house of McGinnis, when the cruel tide mounted higher and higher about her.

Yes, she was a brave girl.

There could be no question about that.

Yet she could not help cowering down in terror as she saw her tormentor entering the room—could not help shrinking down close to the bed, while cold chills crept up her spine, accompanied by a feeling as if she were telescoping into herself.

Tige paused.

As she stood and gloated over this unconscious action of Helen's, the fiendish woman gave utterance to a blood-chilling chuckle.

The sight of this fear that was manifested for her, was the highest compliment which Tige could be paid.

"Well, how does my deary feel after our last little picnic party?" inquired Tige, as she approached the bed, her face distorted by a horrible grimace.

Helen quivered from head to foot.

But she was silent.

The gag prevented all speech, smothered all sound, save moans and groans, and these there was no occasion for now, although there soon would be.

Helen's feet were still bare.

Toward these the hag directed her attention, and as a first move lightly ran her fingers over the soles.

The victim drew them hastily up as far as the ropes about her ankles permitted.

Tige exultantly chuckled.

Helen's feet were very sensitive.

There was a world of fun in store for the she-hyena.

From her pocket the human she-hyena now took a bunch of feathers—innocent-looking things of themselves, but capable of being made an instrument of terrible torture.

These feathers Tige commenced drawing over and brushing around on the soles of Helen's feet.

It was torture indeed!

Torture!

The word does not describe it.

Soon Helen was writhing again, and straining again, until the veins were swollen nearly to bursting.

It was agony to endure.

Don't you think so?

Well, try it.

It can be easily done; there is no costly apparatus to procure. Just two or three feathers, to be drawn over your bare feet.

Laughing, exultantly crowing, chuckling as she watched the evidences of Helen's sufferings, the she-hyena pursued her hideous work with relentless energy.

It was awful.

At last human nature could not stand it, and Helen went into convulsions.

Then Tige threw down the feathers, and sprang to get a pitcher of water.

"I must be quick," she muttered, "or she may die before I can get her out of the fit."