them
that for no consideration would he attempt the case, unless he were
given "a free hand." When coldly required by Lady Wychcote to state what
he meant precisely by "a free hand," he had replied sullenly that he
must be given permission to use violence in return--that is, to defend
himself by a blow, if attacked, and to resort to binding the patient, if
necessary.

"In other words, you wish to introduce the methods of a lunatic asylum
into my house," said Lady Wychcote haughtily. "That will do. We shall
not need your services."

The man turned away, muttering that "madhouse methods were made for
madmen."

Bellamy tried to persuade Lady Wychcote to send for Dr. Carfew and have
Cecil placed in a sanatorium by force.

"Never shall that be done--never while I live," she said resolutely. "I
will not have such a stigma put upon a son of mine. Let him die, if he
must. Better dead than with the shame of madness put upon him."

In vain Bellamy argued with her, pointing out the difference between a
sanatorium and a madhouse. She was adamant.

"Never! Never!" she kept repeating.

In despair, Sophy herself telegraphed to Anne Harding. The answer
somewhat consoled her:

"_Mother doing well. Will come Thursday._"

This was Sunday. In three days, then, the little nurse would be in
charge again.

When Chesney heard this, that awful, blind rage shook him from within.
He felt the horror of "possession." It seemed to him that to kill was
the only thing that would relieve him. His rash excess of the last week
had ended by confining him to his bed again. He lay there after Sophy
had left him, dozing fitfully, waking with dreadful starts from the
unspeakable dreams that had begun to visit him of late, by night and
day. He, too, had read De Quincey. He remembered how the wandering Malay
had haunted "The Opium-Eater's" sweating dreams. Did the dark drug
always send such visions? For now he, Cecil, was hunted down through the
dark alleys of sleep by horrible deformed Chinamen, who squatted on
their hams, mocking him, bedizened in cruel, violent colours that filled
him with unreasoning fear; mopping and mowing at him with chattered
words that iced his blood. And one dream that came again and again
racked him with the extremity of loathing: a violin would begin playing
somewhere--harsh, Chinese music; behind a stiff, embroidered curtain it
would begin to play. Then, from under the curtain would peep a foot, the
deformed "lily