The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (5.1895)

2 I O

The Phantasies of Philarete

through the recumbent figure ; the eyelids trembled, then opened,
though their glance was hardly recognition, and slowly closed
again.

“Alice, dear heart,” exclaimed the man brokenly as he gently
put his arm round her neck, and drew her lips to his ; “ speak to
me, darling. You will be all right now. I am with you. What
has frightened you ? ”

For a few seconds she lay apparently unconscious ; then the
eyes opened again with less of that dreadful, unseeing look, and
she murmured sleepily, “ Where am I ? What is the matter,
John ? ”

“Yes, darling, I am liere. You are better now. Rest a little
bit, and then teil me all about it.”

“ She’s coming to,” said the girl, “ I’ll go and make her a cup of
tea. It’s the best thing now.” And she left the husband and wife
together.

While the wife lay, again silent, with now and then a slight
movement as of a shiver, a timid voice was heard at the door. “ Is
mother ill ? Can I come in ? ”

“She’s getting better, my pet. Run away now, and be very
quiet. You shall come in soon.”

The figure stirred again, this time with more of voluntary
motion ; she made as if to raise herseif; her eyes met her
husband’s with a look of full recognition ; she threw her arm
round his neck and pressed herseif against him in a terrifying
outburst of hysterical weeping. It lasted for minutes—how many
John never knew—with heavy sobs that convulsed her, and inter-
mittent sounds of eerie laughter. At last the words began to
■struggle forth with difficulty and intermittence.

“John—John—dear John—my own dear husband—Oh my
darling—my darling—-I love you, and I have ruined you—it will

kill