If I had
thought of it earlier I might have been able to make myself worse
somehow or other, but now it was too late. When the maid came in and
lit the gas for tea she blamed me for letting the fire out, and told
me that I had a dirty face. I was glad of the chance to slip away
and wash my burning cheeks in cold water. When I had finished and
dried my face on the rough towel I looked at myself in the glass. I
looked as if I had been to the seaside for a holiday, my cheeks were
so red!
That night as I lay sleepless in my bed, seeking for a cool place
between the sheets in which to rest my hot feet, the sickness of fear
returned to me, and I knew that I was lost. I shut my eyes tightly,
but I could not shut out the vivid pictures of school life that my
memory had stored up for my torment; I beat my head against the
pillow, but I could not change my thoughts. I recalled all the
possible events that might interfere with my return to school, a new
illness, a railway accident, even suicide, but my reason would not
accept these romantic issues. I was helpless before my destiny, and
my destiny made me I afraid.
And then, perhaps I was half asleep or fond with fear, I leapt out of
bed and stood in the middle of the room to meet life and fight it.
The hem of my nightshirt tickled my shin and my feet grew cold on the
carpet; but though I stood ready with my fists clenched I could see
no adversary among the friendly shadows, I could hear no sound but
the I drumming of the blood against the walls of my head.
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