in a delirium. Yet she answered lucidly all
questions that were put to her.

"She begs for Miss Grant. She says
over and over that she 'knows,' whatever
that may mean."

When Jessica came home she told me she
did not know. She only felt that a tumult
of impatience was stirring in her friend.

"There is something majestic about her, --
something epic. I feel as if she were mak-
ing me live a part in some great drama, the
end of which I cannot tell. She is suffering,
but I cannot tell why she suffers."

Weeks went on without an abatement in
this strange illness. She did not keep her
bed. Indeed, she neglected few of her usual
occupations. But her hands were burning,
and her eyes grew bright with that wild
sort of lustre one sees in the eyes of those
who give themselves up to strange drugs or
manias. She grew whimsical, and formed
capricious friendships, only to drop them.

And then one day she closed her house
to all acquaintances, and sat alone continu-
ally in her room, with her hands clasped