There was a pause, during which the listener could count the heavy, slow beating of her heart, which seemed to stop directly, as Gartram spoke aloud—
“The very sight of a bed seems to drive it away. As if there was no more rest. Rich beyond my wildest dreams, and what is it but a curse! If I could only sleep—if I could only sleep!”
There was a long, low, piteous sigh, followed by mutterings, some slow and gently uttered, others quick and angry. Then a long pause, during which, with heavily-beating heart, the woman stood listening for her masters next utterances, and thinking of how this man prayed for sleep. What then if it came now? He took these drugs for sleep; suppose that sleep were to come—the long, long, restful sleep from which there is no waking here?
Her eyes seemed to pierce the heavy cloth which hung between them, and she saw him going off into a deeper and deeper sleep, saw the day come stealing in through the cracks, and a faint and ghastly ray fall athwart the hard, stern face of the sleeping man, which she felt, as in a nightmare, compelled to watch, as it grew more grey and hard and fixed. Then there were sounds without—in the hall. She knew the step, it was Claude’s, and there was a tap at the door, and a voice calling gently,—
“Father—papa. Father, dear, are you there? Are you asleep?”
“Claude, my darling,” she moaned, as the girl entered and went softly to the chair to lay her hand gently upon his brow; and then there was a sigh as she bent down, kissed him, and then went softly out.
Sarah Woodham’s heart seemed still and frozen within her, and the horrible feeling of dread and despair increased, so real had all this seemed. But it was a vision conjured up by a guilty brain, for it was still dark, and there was no sound in the room but a regular, heavy breathing, telling that Gartram had found at last the sleep that refused to obey him in his chamber.
Sarah listened. He was asleep, and the trembling and dread came upon her again, to be horribly emphasised, but to be followed by a sensation full of resentment, as Gartram turned suddenly in his chair, and said loudly,—
“Curse him! It was no fault of mine. He seems to haunt me. Is there never to be any peace?”
Sarah Woodham had clutched the curtain, and held it tightly in her hand as he spoke, and she stood there in the darkness gazing in the direction of the chair, resentful and fierce now; the feelings of remorse were all swept away, and the cold, stern determination with which she had received her husband’s commands came back.