d, and
even the recollection of anything she had been wont to feel had
lapsed, and she perceived no more in the scene surrounding, in the
colours and forms of things, the sounds and motions, than those
perceive whose eyes have never been opened to anything beyond what
appears to the grazing cattle. In many a heavy hour she had found
delight in nature; but now, again, she had lost that solace; the glory
had departed, and she had sunk to one of the lowest depths of human
pain.

Not understanding the frightful affliction that had come upon her, she
made no attempt to control her disordered fancy, but hurried off into
the town, and hovered about the places which Dan had pointed out as
being of special evil interest, and searched the streets for him,
acting upon the impulse without a doubt of the propriety of what she
was doing. Had the obsession taken another form, had it seemed right
to her to murder him, the necessity would have been as imperative, and
she would have murdered him, not only without compunction, but with a
sense of satisfaction in the deed.

She pursued her search for hours, but did not find him; then went
home, and there he was, standing on the doorstep, looking out for her.

"Where on earth have you been?" he said.

"Where on earth have you been yourself?" she rejoined.

"Minding my own business," he answered.

"So have I," she retorted, pushing past him into the hall.

He had never seen her like that before, and he stood looking after her
in perplexity.

She went upstairs and threw herself on her bed. The worry in her head
was awful. Turn and toss as she would, the one idea pursued her, until
at last she groaned aloud, "O God! release me from this dreadful man!"

After a time, being thoroughly exhausted, she dropped into a troubled
sleep.

When she awoke, Dan was standing looking at her.

"Aren't you well, Beth?" he said. "You've been moaning and muttering
and carrying on in your sleep as if you'd got fever."

"I don't think I am well," she answered in her natural manner, the
pressure on her brain being easier at the moment of awakening.

He felt her pulse. "You'd better get into bed," he said, "and I'll
fetch you a sedative draught. You'll be all right in the morning."

Beth was only too thankful to get into bed. When he returned with the
draught, she asked him if he were going out again.

"No, not unless I'm sent for," he said. "Where the devil should I be
going to? It's close on din