nearer and nearer to the end that I had been dreading for so many days past. Having been as well educated as most girls, my lessons in history had made me acquainted with assassination and murder. Horrors which I had recoiled from reading in past happy days now returned to my memory, and this time they interested instead of revolting me. I counted the three first ways of killing as I happened to remember them, in my books of instruction--a way by stabbing, a way by poison, a way in a bed by suffocation with a pillow. On that dreadful night I never once called to mind what I find myself remembering now--the harmless past time when our friends used to say: " Eunice is a good girl; we are all fond of Eunice." Shall I ever be the same lovable creature again?
While I lay thinking a strange thing happened. Philip, who had haunted me for days and nights together, vanished out of my thoughts. My memory of the love which had begun so brightly and had ended so miserably became a blank. Nothing was left but my own horrid visions of vengeance and death.
For a while the strokes of the clock still reached my ears. But it was an effort to count them; I ended in letting them pass unheeded. Soon afterward the round of my thoughts began to circle slowly and more slowly. The strokes of the clock died out. The round of my thoughts stopped.
All this time my eyes were still covered by the handkerchief which I had laid over them.
The darkness began to weigh on my spirits and to fill me with distrust. I found myself suspecting that there was some change--perhaps an unearthly change--passing over the room. To remain blindfolded any longer was more than I could endure. I lifted my hand--without being conscious of the heavy sensation which some time before had laid my limbs helpless on the bed--I lifted my hand and drew the handkerchief away from my eyes.
The faint glow of the night light was extinguished.
But the room was not quite dark. There was a ghastly light trembling over it, like nothing that I have ever seen by day; like nothing that I have ever seen by night. I dimly discerned Selina's bed, and the frame of the window and the curtains on either side of it--but not the starlight and not the shadowy tops of the trees in the garden.
The light grew fainter and fainter; the objects in the room faded slowly away. Darkness came.
It may be a saying hard to believe--but when I declare