She could not sleep naturally, and she feared evidently to avail herself of opiates, lest in her heavy slumber, perhaps, I should escape.  In her normal condition this seemed impossible, for she slept habitually as lightly as a cat, or bird upon its perch, yet lying, and with her key beneath her head (never dreaming of other outlet) she felt at ease.  I had already learned that since her illness there were additional precautions taken to insure my safety, and, as she had alleged, her own fidelity.

The Dragon was watched in turn by a Cerberus—­no other than the long-trusted colored coachman of Basil Bainrothe, of whom mention has been made far back in these pages.

Thus secure and secured, Mrs. Clayton might have surrendered herself to slumber with all serenity, one would suppose, had it not absolutely refused to visit her eyelids, and the suggestion of an opiate, on my part, was received for some reason in dumb derision.

I went to her at last, and said:  “Mrs. Clayton, I hear you groaning grievously, and I fancy I could relieve you.  The laying on of hands is a sort of gift of mine; let me try by such means to ease your pain.”

“Thank you, Miss Monfort,” very dryly, “you are very kind, indeed, but I don’t think you can relieve me.  I have excruciating neuralgia in my eyebones and temples, and my hands are cramped again.  Dinah has been, rubbing, without bettering them, for the last half hour.”

“Let me try,” and, without farther parley, I sat down to my self-appointed, loathed, and detested task, first quietly dismissing Dinah to the next room, where Ernie was eating his supper, and I knew would soon be wanting to be put to bed.  We changed places for a time, and it was not long before Mrs. Clayton pronounced the pain, in her eyes “almost gone.”  The experiment was a desperate one, and I bore to it all the powers of my organization—­mental and physical—­and had the satisfaction in less than an hour to see her sleeping profoundly.  She had been failing fast under her painful vigils, and I knew that a few hours of refreshing sleep would be worth to her more than all the drugs in the Pharmacopoeia.  Now came the test which was to make this slumber worth nothing or every thing to me.  If she could be awakened from it without my coincidence, it would prove, perhaps, only a snare to my feet, but if her waking depended on my will, then might I indeed hope to baffle my Dragon, and, as far as she was concerned, make sure of my escape.  I willed then earnestly that she should sleep until twelve o’clock; and at ten, when Dinah became impatient to retire, I gave her permission, in order to gain egress to try and arouse Mrs. Clayton.

In consequence of this immurement of our servant, I had remained supperless—­beyond the crusts of bread left by Ernie and some cold tea in Mrs. Clayton’s teapot, of which I partook with an appetite born of exhaustion.  Those who have undertaken this “laying on of hands,” for the purpose of soothing pain, will comprehend what the succeeding sensation of nerveless prostration is—­those only—­and give me their sympathy.