Welcome to sleep stories with Steph your go-to podcast.
That offers you a calm and relaxing transition to sleep.
Into a great night's sleep.
It is time to relax.
And fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now.
And know where you need to go.
Close your eyes.
And feel yourself sink into the support beneath you.
And let all the worries of the day go.
Drift away.
This is your time.
And your space.
Take a deep breath in through your nose.
And let it out with a long sigh.
That's it!
There is nothing you need to be doing now.
And know where you need to go.
Happy listening.
Chapter 23 Vashti.
It was three weeks since the adventure of the garret,
And I possessed in that case,
Box,
Drawer,
Upstairs,
Casketed with that first letter,
Four companions like to it,
Traced by the same firm pen,
Sealed with the same clear seal,
Full of the same vital comfort.
Vital comfort it seemed to me then.
I read them in after years,
They were kind letters enough,
Pleasing letters,
Because composed by one well pleased.
In the last two,
There were three or four closing lines half gay and half tender.
By feeling touched but not subdued.
Time,
Dear reader,
Mellowed them to a beverage of this mild quality.
But when I first tasted their elixir.
.
.
Fresh from the fount so honoured.
It seemed juice of a divine vintage.
A draft which he might fill and the very gods approve.
Does the reader,
Remembering what was said some pages back,
Care to ask how I answered these letters?
To speak truth,
I compromise matters.
I served two masters.
I wrote to these letter two answers,
One for my own relief and the other for Graham's perusal.
To begin with,
Feeling and I turned Reason out of doors,
Drew against her bar and bolt,
And we sat down,
Spread our paper,
Dipped in the ink an eager pen,
And with deep enjoyment poured out our sincere heart.
When we had done,
When two sheets were covered with the language of a strongly adherent affection,
A rooted and active gratitude,
When then I had given expression to a closely clinging and deeply honouring attachment.
Attachment that wanted to attract to itself and take to its own lot all that was painful in the destiny of its object.
That would,
If it could,
Have absorbed and conducted away all storms and lightnings from an existence viewed with a passion of solicitude.
Then just at that moment the doors of my heart would shake altogether.
And bar would yield,
Reason would leap in,
Vigorous and revengeful,
Snatch the false sheets,
Read,
Sneer,
Erase,
Tear up,
Rewrite,
Fold,
Seal,
Direct,
And sent a terse,
Curt missive of a page.
You did right.
I did not live on letters only.
I was visited and looked after.
Once a week I was taken out to la terrasse,
Which always I was made much of.
Dr.
Breton failed not to tell me why he was so kind.
To keep away the nun,
He said,
He was determined to dispute with her her prey.
He had taken,
He declared,
A thorough dislike to her,
Chiefly on account of that white-faced cloth and those cold grey eyes.
One evening,
The first in December,
I was walking by myself and it was six o'clock and the class doors were closed.
But within the pupils rampant in the license of evening recreation were counterfeiting a miniature chaos.
The carré was quite dark,
Except a red light shining under and about the stone.
The wide glass doors and the long windows were frosted over.
A crystal sparkle of starlight here and there spangling this blanched winter veil,
And breaking with scattered brilliance the paleness of its embroidery,
Proved it a clear light,
Though moonless.
That I should dare to remain thus alone in darkness showed that my nerves were regaining a healthy tone.
I thought of the nun,
But hardly feared her.
Though the staircase was behind me,
Leading up through dark,
Black night from landing to landing to the haunted Grenier.
Yet I own my heart quick.
My pulse leaps.
And when I suddenly heard breathing and rustling,
And turning saw in the deep shadow of the steps a deeper shadow still.
A shape that moved and descended.
It paused a while at the class door and glided before me.
It was only Madame Beck on duty.
M'am,
C'est Rosine?
" cried Rosine,
Bursting in,
Lamp in hand from the corridor.
On est là pour vous,
Salon.
Madame saw me and I saw Madame.
Rosine saw us both.
There was no mutual recognition.
Then I made straight for the salon,
Where I found what I only anticipated I should find,
Dr.
Breton.
But he was in evening dress.
The carriage is at the door,
Said he.
My mother has sent it to take you to the theatre.
She was going herself,
But an arrival has prevented her.
Take Lucy in my place,
She immediately said.
Will you go?
Just now?
I'm not dressed,
Cried I,
Glancing despairingly.
At my doll,
Marina.
You have half an hour to dress.
I should have given you notice but I only determined on going since 5 o'clock.
When I heard there was to be a genuine regale in the presence of a great actress.
Then he mentioned a name that thrilled me,
A name in those days that could thrill Europe.
It is hush now,
Its once restless echoes are all still.
She who bore it went years ago to her rest.
Night and oblivion long since closed above her,
But then her day,
The day of Sirius,
Stood at its full height,
Light and fervour.
I will go,
I will be ready in ten minutes,
I vowed.
And away I flew.
Never once checked reader by the thought which perhaps at this moment checks you.
Namely that to go anywhere with Graham and without Mrs Bretton could be objectionable.
I could not have conceived much less have expressed to Graham such thought,
Such scruple,
Without risk of exciting a tyrannous self-contempt.
Of course,
Kindling an inward fire is a shame so quenchless and so devouring that I think it would soon have licked up the very life in my veins.
Besides,
My godmother,
Knowing her son and knowing me,
Would have soon have thought of chaperoning a sister with a brother as of keeping anxious guard over our incomings and outgoings.
The present was no occasion for showy array.
My done mist crate would suffice,
And I sought the same in the great oak wardrobe in the dormitory,
Where hung no less than forty dresses.
But there had been changes and reforms,
And some innovating hand had pruned this same crowded wardrobe and carried divers' garments to the grenier.
My creep amongst the rest.
I must fetch it.
I got the key and went along.
Fearless.
Almost thoughtless.
I unlocked the door and plunged in.
The reader may believe it or not,
But when I thus suddenly entered,
That garret was not wholly dark as it should have been.
From one point,
There shone a solemn light,
Like a star but broader.
So plainly it shone that it revealed the deep alcove with a portion of the tarnished scarlet curtain drawn over it.
Instantly,
Silently,
Before my eyes it vanished.
So did the curtain and alcove.
All that end of the garret became black as night.
I ventured no research.
I had not time nor will.
Snatching my dress,
Which hung on the wall happily near the door,
I rushed out,
Relocked the door with convulsed haste,
And darted downwards to the dormitory.
But I tremble too much to dress myself.
Impossible to arrange hair or fasten hooks and eyes with such fingers,
I called Rosine and bribed her to help me.
Rosine liked to braid,
So she did her best,
Smoothed and plaited my hair as well as a coiffeur would have done,
Placed the lace collar mathematically straight,
Tied the neck ribbon accurately In short,
Did her work like the neat-handed Phyllis she could be when she chose?
Having given me my handkerchief and gloves,
She took the candle and lighted me downstairs.
After all,
I'd forgotten my shawl.
She ran back to fetch it and I stood with Dr.
John in the vestibule,
Waiting.
What is this,
Lucy?
Said he,
Looking at me narrowly.
Here is the old excitement.
The Nana Game.
But I utterly denied the charge.
I was vexed to be suspected of a second illusion.
He was sceptical.
She has been as sure as I live,
Said he.
Her figure crossing your eyes leaves on them a peculiar gleam and expression not to be mistaken.
She has not been,
I persisted.
Indeed,
I could deny her apparition with truth.
The old symptoms are here,
He affirmed.
A peculiar pale and what the Scotch call a raised look.
He was so obstinate.
I thought it better to tell him what I really had seen.
Of course with him it was held to be another effect of the same cause.
It was all an optical illusion,
He said.
Nervous malady and so on.
Not one bit did I believe him.
But I dared not contradict.
Doctors are so self-opinionated,
So immovable in their dry materialistic views.
Rosin then brought the shore.
And I was bundled into the carriage.
