I have been staring dreamily and in a sort of stupefaction at the little poison-flask in my hand. _It is quite empty now._ I have swallowed every drop of the liquid it contained,--I took it quickly and determinately as one takes nauseous medicine, without allowing myself another moment of time for thought or hesitation. It tasted acrid and burning on my tongue,--but at present I am not conscious of any strange or painful result. I shall watch my face in the mirror and trace the oncoming of death,--this will be at any rate a new sensation not without interest! * * * * * My mother is here,--here with me in this room! She is moving about restlessly, making wild gestures with her hands and trying to speak. She looks as she did when she was dying,--only more alive, more sentient. I have followed her up and down, but am unable to touch her,--she eludes my grasp. I have called her 'Mother! Mother!' but no sound issues from her white lips. Her face is so appalling that I was seized with a convulsion of terror a moment ago and fell on my knees before her imploring her to leave me,--and then she paused in her gliding to and fro and--smiled! What a hideous smile it was! I think I lost consciousness, ... for I found myself lying on the ground. A sharp and terrible pain running through me made me spring to my feet, ... and I bit my lips till they bled, lest I should scream aloud with the agony I suffered and so alarm the house. When the paroxysm passed I saw my mother standing quite near to me, dumbly watching me with a strange expression of wonder and remorse. I tottered past her and back to this chair where I now sit,----I am calmer now, and I am able to realize that she is only the phantom of my own brain--that I _fancy_ she is here while _knowing_ she is dead. * * * * *