ning recurrence; the horror of it being that
the act followed instantaneously on the thought: of himself as a
spectator, separate from that other self, yet bound to it; looking on
at all it did, ashamed and loathing, yet powerless to interfere. And, as
happens in nightmares, his very dread suggested the thing he dreaded,
and changed his dream to something more hideous than before--horror upon
horror, still foreseen, and still foredoomed in the senseless sequence
of the dream. Now these two states of mind were divided by a little
clear space. The passive self was free for a while and could think. It
could think--that was all.

He was waked from his thoughts by a knock and a voice at the door. He
answered gruffly, and as he looked up he saw Katherine standing in the
open doorway, letting in a stream of light from the lamp she carried in
her hand.

He stared at her stupidly, blinking at the light, and hid his face in
his hands again.

"I beg your pardon, Vincent. I knocked, and I thought you said 'Come
in.' I came to see how you were; I was afraid you were worse."

"I am worse. What's more, I shall never be better."

She put her lamp on the chimneypiece and stood beside him.

"Don't say that; of course you'll be better. Can we do anything for
you?"

"No; nothing--thanks."

She moved back a little, and shaded the lamp with her hands. She was
afraid to disturb him, but she did not like to leave him in his misery.
How ill and wretched he looked in that abominable room! The lamplight
showed her all its repulsive details. She had done her best for it; but
in the last two months it had sunk back into something worse than its
former ugliness, degraded in its owner's degradation. There was no trace
now of the clever alterations and contrivances which she had devised for
his comfort. The muslin curtains she had lent him were dark with smoke;
the rug had slipped from the horsehair sofa; there were stains on the
shabby tablecloth and carpet; and on the sideboard there was a sordid
litter of bottles and glasses, pipes, tobacco-ash, and Hardy's hats. The
floor was strewn with the crumpled papers and shoes that he had flung
away from him in his fits of irritation. In the midst of it all she
noticed that Mrs. Rogers had brought back all her terrible household
goods, the pink vases, the paper screens, and the antimacassars--"To
cheer him up, I suppose, poor fellow!"

Hardy looked round as if he had read her thoughts.

"You'd