ven lull the sound of
the voice that pursued Maurice with an inexorable persistence. It was
obvious that on his return home after the honeymoon, he made a
tremendous effort to get the better of his enemy. He called up all his
manhood, all his strength of character. He refused to hear the voice.
When it cried in his ears, he went to sit with Lily, and plunged into
conversation on subjects that interested them both. He made her play to
him, or sing to him in the twilight. He read aloud to her. This was at
night. By day he worked unremittingly. When he was not driving to see
patients he laboured to increase his knowledge of medicine. He pursued
the most subtle investigations into the causes of obscure diseases, and
specially directed his enquiries towards the pathology of the brain. He
analysed the multitudinous developments of madness and traced them back
to their beginnings; and when, as was often the case, he discovered that
the mad man or woman whose malady was laid bare to him had inherited
this curse of humanity, he smiled with a momentary thrill of joy. His
ancestors on both sides of the family had been sane. Yet one of the
commonest, most invariable delusions of the insane was the imaginary
idea that they were pursued by voices, ordering them to do this or that,
suggesting crimes to them or weeping in their ears over some tragedy of
the past. Maurice knew that the mind which does not inherit a legacy of
insanity may yet be overturned by some terrible incident, by a great
shock, or by an unexpected bereavement. But surely such a mind would be
aware of its transformation, even as a man who, from an accident,
becomes disfigured is aware of the alteration of his face from beauty to
desolation. Maurice was not aware that his mind had been transformed.
Deliberately, calmly, he asked himself, "Am I insane?" Deliberately,
calmly, his soul answered, "No." Yet the cry of the child rang in his
ears, pursued his goings out and comings in, filled his days with
lamentation, and his nights with horror.

Then, leaving the subject of madness, Maurice began to institute a close
investigation into the subject of alleged hauntings of human beings by
apparitions and by sounds. He read of the actress, whose lover, who had
slain himself in despair at her cruelty, remained for ever with her,
manifesting his presence, although invisible, by cries, curses, and
clappings of the hands. He read of the clergyman who was haunted by the
footsteps