In a few moments I softly followed her up stairs—I gently pushed open the door of our sleeping chamber. She did not hear my approach. She was kneeling by the bedside, her white hands uplifted in prayer. Yes, she was praying—praying God for _me_—praying Him to restore my _reason_, to remove the darkness from my mind! _My reason!_—ha—ha—how I chuckled as I listened.
I threw myself on the bed without speaking, and was soon asleep, or feigning to be so—narrowly watching, meanwhile, every motion of Fanny, for the demon whispered, _she meant to kill me to save the Life Insurance!_
She did not undress, but sat for a while in a large easy chair. Sometimes she wept, sometimes she seemed engaged in prayer.
“_Kill—kill—kill!_” I muttered, as if in sleep.
She started—her eye-balls dilated with terror. She rose quickly from her seat, as if to fly; but the next moment she softly approached the bed, her countenance changing from terror to pity.
“My poor, poor Henry—God help thee!” she murmured.
She then cautiously stepped across the room and carefully examined the windows, to see if they were fastened. She then took down my pistols. I knew they were not loaded; she, too, appeared to recollect it, and gently replaced them. With a timid step she next approached the bureau and opened my dressing-case, glancing uneasily at the bed as she did so. Good heavens! what was she about to do!
Ah, I knew—though I cunningly closed my eyes and lay still—still—she could not make me believe she was only anxious to put all dangerous weapons from the power of a _madman_—no—no, I knew better!
_She drew forth a razor_—and then softly, softly, softly, she turned from the bureau and—
But I waited for no more. With a horrible cry I sprung from the bed, and with one bound stood before her. I snatched the razor from her hand—I waved its shining blade in triumph.
I attempted to seize her—she eluded my grasp, and ran shrieking from the room. I rushed wildly after her, shouting madly down the stairs—through the hall. I saw her white garments as she sprang through the street-door. “On—on—after her—after her!” cried the demon.
But strong men seized me; they bound me with cords—they called me _mad_—they brought me here—they shut me up with maniacs; but I am not mad—no, no, no—not mad!