"Yes, you will."
"No, Addie. I have always been ill."
"You must have a quiet sleep now."
"I sha'n't be able to."
"Yes. Come and lie here on the sofa. I'll draw the blinds."
"Addie!"
"What is it, Marietje?"
"Do you know what I should like?"
"What?"
"I should like, when you have put me to sleep, as you did yesterday and the day before, I should like never to wake again, to remain asleep always. I should like your voice to lull me to sleep for ever and ever."
"And why don't you want to go on living? You're young and you will get better."
"Tell me what's the matter with me."
"Don't think about that."
"My body is ill, but isn't my soul ill too?"
"Don't think about that; and lie down . . . keep very still . . . give me your hand. . . . Hush, sleep is coming, peaceful sleep. . . . The eyelids are closing. . . . The eyelids feel heavier and heavier. . . . The eyelids are closing. . . . Heavier and heavier the eyelids. . . . You can't lift them, you can't lift them. . . . The hand grows heavier and heavier; you can't lift the hand, . . . The whole body is growing heavy, heavy, heavier and heavier with sleep, peaceful sleep, coming, coming. . . ."
Mathilde listened breathlessly at the partition. All was silent now in Marietje's room; Mathilde no longer heard Addie's soothing voice summoning sleep, the magic of peaceful sleep. And suddenly, as she listened, she grew frightened, she, Mathilde, grew frightened of things which she did not under-
