"Am I really going to kill my mother—that too?" he thought.
He was as far as ever from knowing what course he ought to take, but the light in his mother's window, filtering through the lace curtains that were drawn across it, was like a tear-dimmed, accusing eye, and with a new emotion he was compelled to turn away.
CHAPTER XXI
As two o'clock struck on the soft cathedral bell of a little clock by the side of her bed Fatimah rose with a yawn, switched on the electric light, and filled a small glass from a bottle on the mantel-piece.
"Time to take your medicine, my lady," she said in a sleepy voice.
Her mistress did not reply immediately, and she asked—
"Are you asleep?"
But her lady, who was wide awake, whispered, "Hush! do you hear Rover? Isn't that somebody on the path?"
Fatimah listened as well as she could through the drums of sleep that were beating in her ears, and then she answered—
"No, I hear nothing."