I was slowly dying of insomnia. I was a nervous wreck. She must have heard it. Now she saw it for herself.
No; it was by no means all acting. Intending only to lie, I found myself telling little but the strictest truth, and longing for sleep as passionately as though I had nothing to keep me awake. And yet, while my heart cried aloud in spite of me, and my nerves relieved themselves in this unpremeditated ebullition, I was all the time watching its effect as closely as though no word of it had been sincere.
at my club. The rooms are vacant, and I’ll see that Jane Braithwaite has all ready for you by to-morrow night.”
I thanked him from my heart. “You seem in a hurry!” I added, as I followed him up the stairs.
“I am,” said he. “It’s a near thing for the train. I’ve just time to stick in my things.”
“Then