It had a
lulling effect. Weariness overcame her, and before she could suspect
the inclination, she had fallen asleep.
Suddenly she was awake again, wide awake, it seemed to her, without
any interval of half-consciousness, and staring horror-struck at the
scene before her. The shaded lamp stood on the chest of drawers at
one side of the room, and by its light she saw her mother in front
of the looking-glass, her raised hand holding something that
glistened. She could not move a limb; her tongue was powerless to
utter a sound. There was a wild laugh, a quick motion of the raised
hand--then it seemed to Maud as if the room were filled with a
crimson light, followed by the eternal darkness.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A fortnight later Miss Bygrave was sitting in the early morning by
the bed where Maud lay ill. For some days it had been feared that
the girl's reason would fail, and though this worst possibility
seemed at length averted, her condition was still full of danger.
She had recognised her aunt the preceding evening, but a relapse had
followed. Now she unexpectedly turned to the watcher, and spoke
feebly, but with perfect self-control.
"Aunt, is madness hereditary?"
Miss Bygrave, who had thought her asleep, bent over her and tried to
turn her mind to other thoughts.
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