And like a machine wound up, like a child in a passion, she still struggled to walk, her knees thrust out, doubled up, giving way, her feet trailing. VI. Not a stroke. Well, only a slight stroke, a threatening, a warning. "Remember she's getting old, Mary." Any little worry or excitement would do it. She was worried and excited about me. Richard worried and excited her. If I could only stay awake till she sleeps. She's lying there like a lamb, calling me "dear" and afraid of giving me trouble.... Her little hands dragged the bedclothes up to her chin when Dr. Charles came. She looked at him with her bright, terrified eyes. She isn't old. She can't be when her eyes are so bright. She thinks it's a stroke. She won't believe him. She thinks she'll die like Mrs. Heron. Perhaps she knows. Perhaps Dr. Charles really thinks she'll die and won't tell me. Richard thought it. He was sorry and gentle, because he knew. You could see by his cleared, smoothed face and that dreadfully kind, dreadfully wise look. He gave into everything--with an air of insincere, provisional acquiescence, as if he knew it couldn't be for very long. Dr. Charles must have told him. Richard wants it to happen.... Richard's wanting it can't make it happen. It might, though. Richard might get at her. His mind and will might be getting at her all the time, making her die. He might do it without knowing he was doing it, because he couldn't help it. He might do it in his sleep. But I can stop that.... If Richard's mind and will can make her die, my mind and will can keep her from dying.... There was something I did before. That time I wanted to go away with the Sutcliffes. When Roddy was coming home. Something happened then.... If it happened then it can happen now. If I could remember how you do it. Flat on your back with your eyes shut; not tight shut. You mustn't feel your eyelids. You mustn't feel any part of you at all. You think of nothing, absolutely nothing; not even think. You keep on not feeling, not thinking, not seeing things till the blackness comes in waves, blacker and blacker. That's how it was before. Then the blackness was perfectly still. You couldn't feel your breathing or your heart beating.... It's coming all right.... Blacker and blacker. It wasn't like this before. _This_ is an awful feeling. Dying must be like this. One thing going after another. Something holding down your heart, stopping its beat; something holding down your chest, crushing the breath out of it.... Don't think about the feeling. Don't feel. Think of the blackness.... It isn't the same blackness. There are specks and shreds of light in it; you can't get the light away.... Don't think about the blackness and the light. Let everything go except yourself. Hold on to yourself.... But you felt your self going.