s it solid, in lozenges. I've known people take it moderately.
I've known people take it to excess, _but_ they all were particular as to
_measure,_ and _that_ is exactly the point I've tried to impress upon him.
The habit, of course, you understand is formed, there's no uprooting that;
but he won't _measure_--he goes by the eye and by sensation, which I need
not tell you, Miss Ruthyn, is going by _chance;_ and opium, as no doubt
you are aware, is strictly a poison; a poison, no doubt, which habit will
enable you to partake of, I may say, in considerable quantities, without
fatal consequences, but still a poison; and to exhibit a poison _so_, is,
I need scarcely tell you, to trifle with death. He has been so threatened,
and for a time he changes his haphazard mode of dealing with it, and then
returns; he may escape--of course, that is possible--but he may any day
overdo the thing. I don't think the present crisis will result seriously. I
am very glad, independently of the honour of making your acquaintance, Miss
Ruthyn, that you and your cousin have returned; for, however zealous, I
fear the servants are deficient in intelligence; and as in the event of a
recurrence of the symptoms--which, however, is not probable--I would beg to
inform you of their nature, and how exactly best to deal with them.'

So upon these points he delivered us a pompous little lecture, and begged
that either Milly or I would remain in the room with the patient until his
return at two or three o'clock in the morning; a reappearance of the coma
'might be very bad indeed.'

Of course Milly and I did as we were directed. We sat by the fire, scarcely
daring to whisper. Uncle Silas, about whom a new and dreadful suspicion
began to haunt me, lay still and motionless as if he were actually dead.

'Had he attempted to poison himself?'

If he believed his position to be as desperate as Lady Knollys had
described it, was this, after all, improbable? There were strange wild
theories, I had been told, mixed up in his religion.

Sometimes, at an hour's interval, a sign of life would come--a moan from
that tall sheeted figure in the bed--a moan and a pattering of the lips.
Was it prayer--_what_ was it? who could guess what thoughts were passing
behind that white-fillited forehead?

I had peeped at him: a white cloth steeped in vinegar and water was folded
round his head; his great eyes were closed, so were his marble lips; his
figure straight, thin, and lon