wearily; "but I am afraid that trying will be
useless."

"And another thing--I do not believe that Mr. Ingledew is giving you the
right kind of medicine. I want you quietly to stop taking it for a week,
and to stop drinking lemonade or orange-water at night. In a week's time
let us see how you feel. If you are no better, I will talk to Ingledew
myself. Will you promise me that? Say, 'Yes, Maurice.'"

"Yes, Maurice--I promise you."

"And one more thing, my own dearest. When that nightmare attacks you
again, try to conquer your fear of it. Do not lie still; rise up and see
what it really is. You may find that your dreamy state has misled you,
and that what you took for a threatening figure is merely that of a
servant, who has had orders to come and see whether you were sleeping or
not. Nightmares often resolve themselves into very harmless things. And
of the supernatural I do not think that you need be alarmed; God is
always near you--He will not suffer you to be frightened by phantoms of
the night. Remember when you wake that I shall be thinking of
you--praying for you. I am often up very late, and I do not sleep
heavily. I shall probably be awake thinking of you, or I may be praying
for you, darling, in my very dreams. Will you think of that and try to
be brave?"

"I feel braver now," said the girl simply. "Yes, Maurice, I will do all
you ask. I do not think that I shall feel afraid again."

He left her soon afterwards, and returned on the following morning, to
hear, not with surprise, that she had slept better, that she had had no
nightmare, and that she suffered less from nausea and faintness than
usual. Mrs. Vane was away for a second night, and he had time to see
Enid again before her return. She had not touched her medicine-bottles,
and there was again a slight but marked improvement in her condition.
Mr. Evandale induced her to fetch one of the bottles of Mr. Ingledew's
mixture, which he put into his pocket and conveyed it to his own home.
Here he smelt, tasted, and to some extent analysed it. The result was
such as to plunge him for a short time into deep and troubled thought.

"I expected it," he said at last, with an impatient sigh. "The symptoms
were those of digitalis-poisoning. There is not enough in this
concoction to do her much harm however. It is given to her in some other
form--in that lemonade at night perhaps. Well, I shall soon see whether
my suspicions are correct when Mrs. Vane comes home."