The Cecil Whig., 1873-04-12


live even upon less than before, if such a
thing could be, so that she might meet the
additional expenses caused by illness; and
she had to support the whole establishment
upon her poor earnings at the blanchisseric,
Madame Cornet kindly letting her have as
much work as could be put out, and with
out expecting her to carry it away with
her own means. 1t was simply miracle
that she did not give way. She never
dared leave the room without the most
pressing necessity. She never rested in a
bed, and every moment that she could
spare from nursing she had to devote to
her needle, night and day, except when she
fell asleep out of sheer fatigue. 1t need
not be said that her appearance did not
long remain that of the Felicia of few
months before. She had always been, per-
haps, over-suggestive of whiteness; but
now she looked like ghost, and almost
felt like one. The hands grew transpa-
rent and the eyes dim; but she had the
soul and courage of lion-she even had
the strength to keep in her tears, for fear
they should render her eyes less clear for
working.
At last came the terrible day when she
gave Arthur their last scrap of food with
out prospect of being able to obtain a
morsel more. Clothes, trinkets, easels,
chairs-everything, in short, that was
moveable-had been sold or pawned; the
last of all to go being the green stone in
the hideous setting, which formed such
contrast to the other presents that Arthur
had made her, but to which she seemed,
for some sentimental reason, to cling above
the rest; perhaps because it had in fsrmer
days been sort of fellow-martyr in the
troubles that she had undergone for the
giver's sake. But for the giver's sake,
though with many tears, she had had to
part even with this day or two since,
and, being bad hand at a bargain, had
pledged it at a neighbering pawnkroker's
for a number of shillings that very likely
represented its apparent value, but were
ridiculously out of proportion to its value
to her. 1t need not be said that the few
shillings did not remain long in her hands;
and then there remained to her nothing
more.
Yes, she had given Arthur their last NOR
sci, actual or prospective, nor had she
shared it with him. 1t was now near mid
night Her husband was tossing about in
the restlessness of fever, and she herself
was sitting shivering upon the floor, listen
ing to his tossing and to his broken words
and furiously stitching at cambria shirt
by the light of single faring- -tallow-can-
die. The atmosphere was terribly close
and yet miserably cold; and then the noises
that are silent by day but awake when the
waking world is silent, especially in sick
chamber, were enough to fill with terror of
the unseen one whose nerves were so pain
fully strung to their highest pitch as hers.
1t was not the scrambling of the mice be-
hind the waistcot, though that, as those
who have watched like her well know, is
bad enough; but separate ghost seemed
to enter into every bare plank of the floor,
into the windows, into the chimney, till
each of these took a CHASTITY life of its ewn
that found expression in starts and creaks
and groans. 1t has often been matter for
wonder what is the reason of this peculiar
ity of the night in bringing into dead life
| inanimate things: but the reason is simply:
it is that there must always be a certain
amount of vitality awake in the world, and
that that which leaves ourselves during the
hours Of darkness must seek for itself
temporary home elsewhere. Thus it is our
own self-sleeping life we hear around us
when we listen to these audible though
invisible wraiths Of our own selves. 1t is
this that endows them with their undefn-
ed power of terrifying, which belongs to
nothing real in the world. There are many
people who would face with the calmest
self-possession a whole band of robbers or
any actual danger, and yet are overcome
with panic at their own shadow when it
makes itself audible in the creaking of
chair.
For her part, however, Felicia went on
stitching and stitching, wearied out, but
not in the least inclined to sleep, for she
had come to such pass that chronic wake
fulness was with her almost disease, so
that she could scarcely have slept now even
if she had tried. Every now and then, in
spite of her attention to her work, she gave
start when the naked boards INDUCED in
louder crack than usual: nor did she
IL, ol>, l. IL
ly, for, while she strained eyes over her
stitches, she had no less to strain her ears
to catch the least sound that might pass
through the open door of the adjoining
bedroom. Her great and real fear was lest
the flare of the candle should gutter down
into its socket before she had finished her
task, which had to be completed by the
next morning. There were just two inches
of candle: there was just yard of work.
She was SO cold that her fingers were al
most numbed, though less by reason of the
weather than by hunger and fatigue. Her
head was aching: but that also, like her
wakefulneSs, was too habltual to be re-
garded. At last, unless her ears deceived
her, distinct sound of tapping came eth
er from the door or from the wall. She
had heard of the death-tick, and, though
by no means superstitious, the sound filled
her with the alarm that comes from the
unseen. She was in a mood for omens Of
evil; and the very flame of the candle, as
it tlared up, and then sank down and far
ed up again, seemed to her to represent the
last dying struggles of one whose minutes
are numbered. She listened again: there
was no doubt that sound was present
with her that neither belonged to mouse
nor was caused by the strain of her own
nerves. 1t was, as has been said, low
tapping noise, as though some timid hand
were requesting admittance. Impossible
as this should be at such an hour, her eyes
were led by it instinctively in the direction
of the door.
And presently, slowly and silently, the
door began to move. What mortal crea-
ture could be intruding thus upon her at