scream, which provoked one from me, in spite
of myself, as soon as it rung through the
house. I ran out into the lobby with the rest,
my face white and my fright more evident
than any of theirs. Becket was standing
in her doorway, storming and raging like
a fury, and defying any of us to go near
her. Mrs. Townshend talked and reasoned
with her from a safe distance, until she
calmed down a little, and retreated, locking
her door with a loud noise, and dragging
her heavy trunk against it.

I was very ill for some time after that
night. The reaction from the excitement
produced a low nervous fever, which made
me feel as weak and helpless as a child.
Mrs. Townshend's doctor saw me, and
pronounced me suffering from some severe
mental shock. He said so in Becket's
hearing, and her conscience accused her of
being the cause of my illness. She grew
very kind to me, and fonder of me than
before, ordering for me all sorts of
delicacies to tempt my appetite, and urging me
to take short walks about the garden, leaning
upon her strong arm. I became better,
but the satchel was constantly under my
eyes, and a mania to the full, as dominant as
Becket's, was gaining possession of me. I
ceased to think even of George, and left his
letters unanswered. The sole and simple
purpose of my life seemed to be to obtain
it by any means, and to put in its place the
one I always carried about with me. I was
on the very verge of madness myself.

Hot sultry weather had come in with
June; weather which made the house
intolerable, and the garden the only place to
live in. Becket herself had not been as
well as usual since the night when she had
aroused the household, and she was looking
anxiously for the next visit of Mrs.
Haddan, who, no doubt, would come again
before Lewis's birthday arrived. I heard
her—for all my senses had grown
preternaturally acute, and my ears listened, even
in my sleep—leave her attic one morning at
the earliest moment of the dawn, and go
quietly down-stairs into the garden. It
must be insufferably hot in the attics, I
thought, and she has gone out to enjoy the
cool freshness of the morning. After that
I could not sleep myself, and I tossed about
thinking of the garden, with the dew upon
the flowers, and the soft grey clouds of the
dawn floating across the sky. My head
felt hot and feverish, and my temples
throbbed. I got up at last languidly, and
put on my dress over my nightgown. It
was not four o'clock yet, and nobody would
be about for two hours, except Becket;
who was already enjoying herself out of
doors. I went down-stairs, as she had done,
quietly, and entered the garden. There
was an unutterable beauty and peace about
it, a bloom and freshness which would
vanish away quickly when the sun rose
hotly above the shadowing trees. I paced
leisurely to and fro, looking first at one
flower and then at another. My brain grew
calmer, and my temples cooler. I began
to think I would write to George, and tell
him all, promising to submit to whatever
he should wish me to do. The green alley
of trees stretched invitingly before me,
with the sunbeams already playing through
the quivering of the leaves; and I strolled
down it, with gentler and clearer thoughts
than had been in my mind for many a day.
I recollect stopping to look at a whole
nest full of young fledglings clamouring
for food; and then I went on very slowly
and calmly till I came within sight of the
alcove, and saw—what?

My feet felt rooted to the ground for a
minute or two, and my heart throbbed
painfully. There sat Becket in her favourite
corner, with her face turned from me, but
evidently fast asleep; so soundly asleep
that her left arm had fallen to her side, and
the satchel had slipped from it to the floor
at her feet. I could not believe my own
eyes, or be sure that I was not dreaming ;
but, seeing that she did not move, I
unfastened my duplicate satchel from within
my dress, and stole noiselessly forward,
ready to assume my ordinary aspect if she
should wake. Was it possible that I was
so near success at last? Within reach of
her powerful arm I stopped again, looking,
not at her, but at the satchel. There was
still no sign of waking, no stir or movement
about her; there was not even a sound
of breathing through her lips, though she
was close enough for me to touch. I raised
my eyes from the satchel to her face, and
saw hers wide open, but with no sight in
them: they were looking at me, but could
not see me. Her listless hand, upon which
my fingers fell for an instant, was cold like
frozen iron. She was dead!

I was more fearful of stooping to seize
possession of the satchel now than I had
been before. I could not move to touch
it. My own fell from my powerless
fingers to the ground beside it. There
sat the dead woman in her awful slumber,
never to be broken, and I stood
beside her, while the morning light grew
stronger, and the sounds of life came oftener