n,
yet.

"You good little soul, you are always right. Look at me again, Euneece.
Are you beginning to doubt me? Oh, my darling, don't do that! It isn't
using me fairly. I can't bear it--I can't bear it!"

I took her hand; I was on the point of speaking to her with the kindness
she deserved from me. On a sudden she snatched her hand away and ran
back to the piano. When she was seated on the music-stool, her face was
hidden from me. At that moment she broke into a strange cry--it began
like a laugh, and it ended like a sob.

"Go away to papa! Don't mind me--I'm a creature of impulse--ha! ha!
ha! a little hysterical--the state of the weather--I get rid of these
weaknesses, my dear, by singing to myself. I have a favorite song:
'My heart is light, my will is free.'--Go away! oh, for God's sake, go
away!"

I had heard of hysterics, of course; knowing nothing about them,
however, by my own experience. What could have happened to agitate her
in this extraordinary manner?

Had Helena's letter anything to do with it? Was my sister indignant with
Philip for swearing in my presence; and had she written him an angry
letter, in her zeal on my behalf? But Selina could not possibly have
seen the letter--and Helena (who is often hard on me when I do stupid
things) showed little indulgence for me, when I was so unfortunate as to
irritate Philip. I gave up the hopeless attempt to get at the truth
by guessing, and went away to forget my troubles, if I could, in my
father's society.

After knocking twice at the door of the study, and receiving no reply, I
ventured to look in.

The sofa in this room stood opposite the door. Papa was resting on it,
but not in comfort. There were twitching movements in his feet, and he
shifted his arms this way and that as if no restful posture could he
found for them. But what frightened me was this. His eyes, staring
straight at the door by which I had gone in, had an inquiring
expression, as if he actually did not know me! I stood midway between
the door and the sofa, doubtful about going nearer to him.

He said: "Who is it?" This to me--to his own daughter. He said: "What do
you want?"

I really could _not_ bear it. I went up to him. I said: "Papa, have you
forgotten Eunice?"

My name seemed (if one may say such a thing) to bring him to himself
again. He sat upon the sofa--and laughed as he answered me.

"My dear child, what delusion has got into that pretty little head of
yours? Fancy her