"Then it was an optical illusion, and I am going out of my mind," said Enid despairingly.
"Was the figure like that of anyone you know?"
"Yes—Flossy."
"Mrs. Vane? And you think that she does not like you?"
"I know that she hates me."
"My darling, it is simply a nightmare—nothing more." But he felt her trembling in his arms.
"It is more than a nightmare, I am sure. You know that people used to say that I might go out of my mind if those terrible seizures attacked me? I have not had so many of them lately; but I feel weaker than ever I did—I feel as if I were going to die. Perhaps it would be better if I were to die, and then I should not be a trouble and a care to anybody. And it would be better to die than to go mad, would it not?"
"Enid," said the Rector very gravely, "I believe that your malady is entirely one of the nerves, and that it can be controlled. You must try to believe, my darling, that you could conquer it if you tried. When you feel the approach of one of these seizures, as you call them, resolve that you will not give way. By a determined effort I think that it is possible for you to ward them off. Will you try, for my sake?"
"I will try," said Enid wearily; "but I am afraid that trying will be useless."
"And another thing—I do not believe that Mr. Ingledew is giving you the right kind of medicine. I want you quietly to stop taking it for a week, and to stop drinking lemonade or orange-water at night. In a week's time let us see how you feel. If you are no better, I will talk to Ingledew myself. Will you promise me that? Say, 'Yes, Maurice.'"