Torture indescribable has made of me a writhing, moaning, helpless creature for the past few minutes. Truly that drug was deadly;--the pain is horrible ... horrible! ... it has left me quivering in every limb and palpitating in every nerve. Looking at my face in the glass I see that it has already altered. It is drawn and livid,--all the fresh rose-tint of my lips has gone,--my eyes protrude unnaturally, ... there are dull blue marks at the corners of my mouth and in the hollows of my temples, and I observe a curious quick pulsation in the veins of my throat. Be my torment what it will, now there is no remedy,--and I am resolved to sit here and study my own features to the end. 'The reaper whose name is Death' must surely be near, ready to gather my long hair in his skeleton hand like a sheaf of ripe corn, ... my poor beautiful hair!--how I have loved its glistening ripples, and brushed it, and twined it round my fingers, ... and how soon it will lie like a dank weed in the mould! * * * * * A devouring fire is in my brain and body,--I am burning with heat and parched with thirst,--I have drunk deep draughts of cold water, but this has not relieved me. The sun glares in upon me like an open furnace,--I have tried to rise and close the blind against it, but find I have no force to stand upright. The strong radiance blinds me:--the silver toilet boxes on my table glitter like so many points of swords. It is by a powerful effort of will that I am able to continue writing,--my head is swimming round,--and there is a choking sensation in my throat. * * * * * A moment since I thought I was dying. Torn asunder as it were by the most torturing pangs, I could have screamed for help,--and would have done so, had voice been left me. But I cannot speak above a whisper,--I mutter my own name to myself 'Sibyl! Sibyl!' and can scarcely hear it. My mother stands beside me,--apparently waiting;--a little while ago I thought I heard her say 'Come, Sibyl! Come to your chosen lover!' Now I am conscious of a great silence everywhere,--a numbness has fallen upon me, and a delicious respite from pain,--but I see my face in the glass and know it is the face of the dead. It will soon be all over,--a few more uneasy breathings,--and I shall be at rest. I am glad,--for the world and I were never good friends;--I am sure that if we could know, before we were born, what life really is, we should never take the trouble to live! * * * * *