d shivered slightly. Madame Patoff remained
standing, the hairbrush still in her hand.

"Why should you not sleep? Why should you? What difference does it make?
One is just as well without it, and one can think all night,--one can
think of things one would like to do."

"Yes," answered the young girl, growing more and more nervous. "You must
have been thinking aloud, aunt Annie. I thought I heard your voice."

Madame Patoff moved suddenly and bent forward, bringing her face close
to her niece's, so that the latter was startled and drew back in her
chair.

"Did you hear what I said?" asked the old lady, almost fiercely, in low
tones.

Sometimes a very slight thing is enough to turn the balance of our
beliefs, especially when all our feelings are wrought to the highest
pitch of excitement. In a moment the conviction seized Hermione that her
aunt was mad,--not mad as she had once pretended to be, but really and
dangerously insane.

"I did not understand what you said," answered the young girl, too
frightened to own the truth, as she saw the angry eyes glaring into her
face. It seemed impossible that this should be the quiet, sweet-tempered
woman whom she was accustomed to talk with every day. She certainly did
the wisest thing, for her aunt's face instantly relaxed, and she drew
herself up again and turned away.

"Go to bed, child," she said, presently. "I dare say I frightened you. I
sometimes frighten myself. Go to bed and sleep. I will not make any more
noise to-night."

There was something in the quick change, from apparent anger to apparent
gentleness, which confirmed the idea that Madame Patoff's brain was
seriously disturbed. Hermione rose and quietly left the room. She locked
her door, and went to bed, hoping that she might sleep and find some
rest; for she was worn out with excitement, and shaken by a sort of
nervous fear.

Sleep came at last, troubled by dreams and restless, but it was sleep,
nevertheless. Several times she started up awake, thinking that she
again heard her aunt's low voice and the regular fall of her footsteps
in the next room. But all was still, and her weary head sank back on the
pillow in the dark, her eyelids closed again in sheer weariness, and
once more her dreams wove fantastic scenes of happiness, ending always
in despair, with the suddenness of revulsion which makes the visions of
the night ten times more agonizing while they last than the worst of our
real troubles.

But