She said, “Do you love Sylifa?” “Yes,” was my answer.  “Then give me back my Oma.  Without him I die; already I droop; to-morrow I shall be no more.”

When asked to amuse us, she said she could not; her heart was too heavy.  We tried to console her, but it was useless; she wept, and her long hair was wet with her tears.

After two days, we were obliged to restore Oma to the devoted Sylifa.

Sylifa was enthusiastic in her love of flowers.  It was she who suggested that, at the fete of which I have spoken, the camelopards should be united by wreaths of flowers.  She sought and obtained my permission to mount the tallest of the stately animals, and appeared, resplendent in beauty, amongst the beautiful women who graced the fete.

XXVIII.

THE YOUNG GIRL RESTORED.

MADNESS.

     “A sleep of sorrow.”

Formerly, as before observed, many were pronounced mad who were perfectly sane, but madness itself was scarcely ever recognised until by violent actions or incoherent words the patient had excited fear in others.  Numbers, afflicted with incipient madness, might have been easily cured had its presence been detected; but they were allowed to inflict great injury upon their neighbours.  This they did the more effectually as their madness was not even suspected until the symptoms of the malady became too glaring to be disregarded.

I will relate to you a case which presented some remarkable features.  A little girl about four years old fell down some stone steps, and received a violent blow across the nose, which swelled enormously.  She probably was otherwise injured, but the injury on the nose was the only one then observed.  After some time the effects of the accident were to all appearance completely cured.

As the girl grew in years, she gave signs of marvellous talent.  But apparently unable to apply herself to any particular pursuit, she became wearied of one thing after another, and continually thirsted for novelty.  This incessant love of change extended to everything, to friendship, love, dress, amusements; to the most serious and most trifling matters.  She was happy and melancholy at intervals, and always in excess; nay, in her fits of extreme despondency she would even meditate suicide.

Though disliked by some for her wayward and capricious disposition, she was a great favourite with others.  I should add that she was extremely beautiful, indeed lovely, very witty, highly gifted, and withal so fascinating that she never failed to charm every one at the first interview, the novelty of the excitement, and a natural desire to please giving impulse to her will.  Although possessing so many gifts, she was very jealous and envious of others.

Many were the offers of marriage which she accepted in succession, abandoning one suitor after the other without any adequate reason or any feeling of compunction.  At length she unexpectedly accepted a man of whom she had scarcely any previous knowledge.