“About three o’clock.”
I went wandering about the woods, and at three I was again in the housekeeper’s room. She came to me presently, looking rather troubled.
“It is very odd,” she began, the moment she entered, “but for the first time, I think, for years, she’s not for her afternoon sleep.”
“Does she sleep at night?” I asked.
“Like a bairn. But she sleeps a great deal; and the doctor says that’s what keeps her so quiet. She would go raving again, he says, if the sleep did not soothe her poor brain.”
“Could you not let me see her when she is asleep to-night?”
Again she hesitated, but presently replied:—
“I will, sir; but I trust to you never to mention it.”
“Of course I will not.”
“Come at ten o’clock, then. You will find the outer door on this side open. Go straight to my room.”