“After we had packed our dresses and our birthday presents, our books and our music, we began to sort our letters, which had got confused from being placed on the table together.  Some of my letters were mixed with Magdalen’s, and some of hers with mine.  Among these last I found a card, which had been given to my sister early in the year by an actor who managed an amateur theatrical performance in which she took a part.  The man had given her the card, containing his name and address, in the belief that she would be invited to many more amusements of the same kind, and in the hope that she would recommend him as a superintendent on future occasions.  I only relate these trifling particulars to show you how little worth keeping such a card could be, in such circumstances as ours.  Naturally enough, I threw it away from me across the table, meaning to throw it on the floor.  It fell short, close to the place in which Magdalen was sitting.  She took it up, looked at it, and immediately declared that she would not have had this perfectly worthless thing destroyed for the world.  She was almost angry with me for having thrown it away; almost angry with Miss Garth for asking what she could possibly want with it!  Could there be any plainer proof than this that our misfortunes—­falling so much more heavily on her than on me—­have quite unhinged her, and worn her out?  Surely her words and looks are not to be interpreted against her, when she is not sufficiently mistress of herself to exert her natural judgment—­when she shows the unreasonable petulance of a child on a question which is not of the slightest importance.

“A little after eleven we went upstairs to try if we could get some rest.

“I drew aside the curtain of my window and looked out.  Oh, what a cruel last night it was:  no moon, no stars; such deep darkness that not one of the dear familiar objects in the garden was visible when I looked for them; such deep stillness that even my own movements about the room almost frightened me!  I tried to lie down and sleep, but the sense of loneliness came again and quite overpowered me.  You will say I am old enough, at six-and-twenty, to have exerted more control over myself.  I hardly know how it happened, but I stole into Magdalen’s room, just as I used to steal into it years and years ago, when we were children.  She was not in bed; she was sitting with her writing materials before her, thinking.  I said I wanted to be with her the last night; and she kissed me, and told me to lie down, and promised soon to follow me.  My mind was a little quieted and I fell asleep.  It was daylight when I woke—­and the first sight I saw was Magdalen, still sitting in the chair, and still thinking.  She had never been to bed; she had not slept all through the night.