“It’s so odd——”
“Odd?”
“Yes—so odd—sleep. Such an odd thing. It was so easy once. Now it’s so difficult that it can’t be done. Why? No one knows. No one knows what sleep is——”
His voice trailed away. He was strung like a wire that is ready to snap, and on the borders of consciousness, just out of sight, something waited; he turned his head sharply, as if the thing he dreaded might be there—behind him—in the shadow.
Instead, he saw Elizabeth in a golden light like a halo. It swam before his tired eyes, a glow with a rainbow edge. Out of the heart of it she looked at him with serious, tender eyes.
Beyond, in the gloom, there lurked such a horror as made him catch his breath, and here at his side—in this room, peace, safety, and sleep—sleep, the one thing in heaven or earth desired and desirable.
A sort of shudder passed over him, and he repeated his own last words in a low, altered voice.
“One can’t go on. Something must give way. Sometimes I feel as if it might give now—at any moment. Then there’s madness—when one can’t sleep. Am I going mad, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth caught his hand and held it. He was so near that the impulse carried her away. Her clasp was strong, warm, and vital.
“No, my dear, no,” she said.