I told her that she was forgiven.  I cooled her forehead with water, and at length laid her upon the bed.  She clung to me piteously as I was leaving.

“Kiss me good night,” she murmured.

I had not felt that I could kiss her, but I stooped and touched her slightly on the brow, at the root of the curls.  Then I left her, feeling all the way the clutch of her little fingers on my arm.

* * * * *

As I slipped up to my room, I had to pass the drawing-room door; it was ajar, and I caught a glimpse of them all as they sat at the card-table under the green-shaded lamp.

“Honours divided, Miss Seymour, honours divided,” said the vicar; and as I slowly made my way upstairs I heard the clatter of teacups and Mrs. Rayner’s thin laugh.

I went past the room I had shared with Gabriel, and made my way to the topmost floor, to the room that was formerly mine.  It was in disorder, and nearly bare.  I lighted a candle, but the sight of the dreariness oppressed me; I therefore blew it out again, and leant out of the open window.

It was a cool night, and dark, for clouds had hidden the moon; the chimes rang the quarters; they seemed to follow close upon each other, and still I stood at the window.  I heard Mrs. Rayner go, and her escort, Uncle George, return.  “B-rrr,” he went, as he stamped up the steps.  “How his keys jingle,” thought I; “and is it so cold?”

I cannot remember that I thought much of what had happened; my senses were very keen, but emotion was torpid.  I took note of every barking dog, every distant wheel; sometimes I sang a little to myself, and, all the while, I worked my foot to and fro along the skirting.

Presently Uncle George left for good, taking the vicar with him.  The servants came to bed, giggling under their breath; then all was still.

I did not leave the window, but in the silence—­there being now no sound to arrest my attention, save the chimes which I forgot to hear—­a change came over me.  I fell into a sort of dream; scene after scene the past rose before me in bright visions; then came the present, chaos.  I stood, as it were, in the centre of nothingness, alone and lost, not a sound, not a light, not a finger to touch.

“What matter,” thought I,—­“what matter if I live or die?  Surely it is in this state that people kill themselves.”

I heard the chimes again, and a duck quacked in the pond; it was as the laugh of a devil.

I turned from the window and stumbled over something; I lighted a candle, and sat shivering on the shrouded bed.

“Two o’clock,” thought I; “it is very cold.  What shall I do?  Shall I sleep or die?”

And, as it were with a flash, there came to me the thought that perhaps I was not the only one who sat at this moment coldly contemplating death.  An awful fear seized me that perhaps he, Gabriel, might be driven to the haven of despairers.