She threw him a quick, half-furtive look. "No—no!" she said hurriedly. "I can't sleep. I don't want to sleep. I think I will get a book and read."
His hand pressed upon her. "Isabel!" he said quietly. "When I say a thing
I mean it."
She made a quivering gesture of appeal. "I can't go to bed, Eustace. It is like lying on thorns. Somehow I can't close my eyes to-night. They feel red-hot."
His hold did not relax. "My dear," he said, "you talk like a hysterical child! Lie down at once, and don't be ridiculous!"
She wavered perceptibly before his insistence. "If I do, Scott must give me a draught. I can't do without it—indeed—indeed!"
"You are going to do without it to-night," Eustace said, with cool decision. "Scott is worn out and has gone to bed. I made him promise to stay there unless he was rung for. And he will not be rung for to-night."
Isabel made a sharp movement of dismay. "But—but—I always have the draught sooner or later. I must have it. Eustace, I must! I can't do without it! I never have done without it!"
Eustace's face did not alter. It looked as if it were hewn in granite. "You are going to make a beginning to-night," he said. "You have been poisoned by that stuff long enough, and I am going to put a stop to it. Now get into bed, and be reasonable! Biddy, you clear out and do the same! You can leave the door ajar if you like. I'll call you if you are wanted."
He pointed to the half-open door that led into the small adjoining room in which Biddy slept. The old woman stood and stared at him with consternation in her beady eyes.
"Is it meself that could do such a thing?" she protested. "I never leave my young lady till she's asleep, Sir Eustace. I'd sooner come under the curse of the Almighty."