which fell over her night-dress to the floor in thick, black masses.  Her eyes were closed; her face was death-like, almost livid; and the cold dews of torture were rolling down from brow to chin.  Her lips were moving convulsively, with now and then the appearance of an attempt at articulation, as if they were set in motion by an agony of inward prayer.  Margaret, unable to move, watched her with anxious sympathy and fearful expectation.  How long this lasted she could not tell, but it seemed a long time.  At length Margaret rose, and longing to have some share in the struggle, however small, went softly, and stood behind her, shadowing her from a feeble ray of moonlight which, through a wind-rent cloud, had stolen into the room, and lay upon her upturned face.  There she lifted up her heart in prayer.  In a moment after the tension of Euphra’s countenance relaxed a little; composure slowly followed; her head gradually rose, so that Margaret could see her face no longer; then, as gradually, drooped forward.  Next her arms untwined themselves from the bed-post, and her hands clasped themselves together.  She looked like one praying in the intense silence of absorbing devotion.  Margaret stood still as a statue.

In speaking about it afterwards to Hugh, Margaret told him that she distinctly remembered hearing, while she stood, the measured steps of a policeman pass the house on the pavement below.

In a few minutes Euphra bowed her head yet lower, and then rose to her feet.  She turned round towards Margaret, as if she knew she was there.  To Margaret’s astonishment, her eyes were wide open.  She smiled a most child-like, peaceful, happy smile, and said: 

“It is over, Margaret, all over at last.  Thank you, with my whole heart.  God has helped me.”

At that moment, the moon shone out full, and her face appeared in its light like the face of an angel.  Margaret looked on her with awe.  Fear, distress, and doubt had vanished, and she was already beautiful like the blessed.  Margaret got a handkerchief, and wiped the cold damps from her face.  Then she helped her into bed, where she fell asleep almost instantly, and slept like a child.  Now and then she moaned; but when Margaret looked at her, she saw the smile still upon her countenance.

She woke weak and worn, but happy.

“I shall not trouble you to-day, Margaret, dear,” said she.  “I shall not get up yet, but you will not need to watch me.  A great change has passed upon me.  I am free.  I have overcome him.  He may do as he pleases now.  I do not care.  I defy him.  I got up last night in my sleep, but I remember all about it; and, although I was asleep, and felt powerless like a corpse, I resisted him, even when I thought he was dragging me away by bodily force.  And I resisted him, till he left me alone.  Thank God!”

It had been a terrible struggle, but she had overcome.  Nor was this all:  she would no more lead two lives, the waking and the sleeping.  Her waking will and conscience had asserted themselves in her sleeping acts; and the memory of the somnambulist lived still in the waking woman.  Hence her two lives were blended into one life; and she was no more two, but one.  This indicated a mighty growth of individual being.