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Until then, however, I didn't trouble myself to wonder; for I still supposed I should get out. Even when a week went by, and then another, I supposed it. I only understood at last that I must give up my idea that Dr Christie would be the man to release me -- for if he believed that I was mad when I went in, then everything I said as time went on only seemed to serve to make him think me madder. Worse than that, he still held firm to his idea that I should be cured, and know myself again, if I might only be made to write.

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"You have been put too much to literary work," he said on one of his visits, "and that is the cause of your complaint. But sometimes we doctors must work by paradoxical methods. I mean to put you to literary work again, to restore you. Look here." He had brought me something, wrapped in paper. It was a slate and chalk. "You shall sit with this blank slate before you," he said, "and before this day is done, you shall have written me out -- neatly, mind! -- your name. Your true name, I mean. Tomorrow you shall write me the start of an account of your life; and you shall add to it, on each day that follows. You shall recover the use of your faculty of reason, as you recover your facility with the pen…"

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And so he made Nurse Bacon keep me sitting with the chalk in my hand, for hours at a stretch; and of course, I could write nothing, the chalk would crumble to a powder -- or else, grow damp and slippery from the sweating of my palm. Then he'd come back and see the empty slate, and frown and shake his head. He might have Nurse Spiller with him. "Ain't you wrote a word?" she'd say. "And here's the doctors spending all their time to make you well. Ungrateful, I call that."

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When he'd gone, she'd shake me. And when I'd cry and swear, she'd shake me harder. She could shake you so, you thought your teeth were being rattled out of your head. She could shake you until you were sick. -- "Got the grips," she'd tell the other nurses then, with a wink; and the nurses would laugh. They hated the ladies. They hated me. They thought that when I spoke in the way that was natural to me, I did it to tease them. I know they put it out that I got special attentions from Dr Christie, through pretending to be low. That made the ladies hate me, too. Only mad Miss Wilson was now and then kind to me.

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"Keep her from her dinner, Nurse Bacon," he said sternly, "until she writes again."

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So then, I wrote out: Susan, Susan -- I wrote it, fifty times. Nurse Bacon hit me. Nurse Spiller hit me, too. Dr Christie shook his head. He said my case was worse than he had thought, and needed another method. He gave me drinks of creosote -- had the nurses hold me, while he poured it into my mouth. He talked of bringing a leech-man in, to bleed my head.

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And when, next day, I again could make nothing but scribbles, of course he thought me shamming.

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Once she saw me weeping over my slate and, when Nurse Bacon's back was turned, came over and wrote me out my name -- Maud's name, I mean. But, though she meant it well, I wished she hadn't done it; for when Dr Christie came and saw it, he smiled and cried, "Well done, Mrs Rivers! Now we are half-way there!"

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Then a new lady came to the house, who would speak nothing but a made-up language she said was the language of snakes; and after that he passed all his time with her, pricking her with needles, bursting paper bags behind her ear, scalding her with boiling water -- looking for ways to startle her into speaking English.

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I wished he would go on pricking and scalding her for ever. The creosote had almost choked me. I was frightened of leeches. And his leaving me alone, it seemed to me, would give me more time for sitting and planning my escape in. For I still thought of nothing but of that. It got to June. I had gone in there some time in May. But I still had spirit enough to learn the lie of the house, to study the windows and doors, looking out for weak ones; and every time Nurse Bacon took out her chain of keys, I watched, and saw which did what. I saw that, as far as the locks on the bedroom and passage doors went, one key worked them all. If I could slip that key from a nurse's chain, I could make my escape, I was certain of it. But those chains were stout; and each nurse kept her keys very close; and Nurse Bacon -- who was warned I might be crafty -- kept hers closest of all. She gave them up only to Betty when she wanted something got out from her cupboard; and then she took them back at once, and dropped them into her pocket. I never saw her do it, without trembling in a hopeless rage.

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It seemed too hard that I -- of all people in the world! -- should be kept so low, so long, from everything that was mine, by a single key -- a single, simple key! not even a fancy key, but a plain one, with four straight cuts upon it that, given the right kind of blank and file, I knew I should have been able, in half a moment, to fake up. I thought it, a hundred times a day. I thought it as I washed my face, and as I took my dinner. I thought it as I walked the little garden; as I sat in the drawingroom, hearing ladies mumble and weep; as I lay in my bed, with the nurse's lamp blazing in my eyes. If thoughts were hammers or picks I should have been free, ten thousand times over. But my thoughts were more like poisons. I had so many, they made me sick.

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It was a dull sort of sickness, not like the sharp panic that had gripped me and made me sweat, in my first days there. It was a kind of creeping misery, that crept so slow, and was so much a part of the habits of the house -- like the colour of the walls, the smell of the dinners, the sound of weeping and shrieks -- I did not know it had gained upon me, until too late. I still said, to everyone who spoke to me, that I was quite in my right mind -- that I was there, through a mistake -- that I was not Maud Rivers, and must be let out at once. But I said it so often, the words grew soft -- like coins losing their faces through being too much spent.

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One day at last, I walked with a lady in the garden and said it again; and the lady looked at me in pity. "I thought the same thing, once," she said kindly. "But you see, I'm afraid you must be mad, since you are here. There is something queer about us all. You need only look about you. You need only look at yourself."

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She smiled -- but, as before, she smiled in a kind of pity; then she walked on. I stopped, however. I had not thought, I could not say in how long, of how I must look, to others.

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Dr Christie kept no looking-glasses, for fear they should get smashed, and it seemed to me now that the last time I had gazed at my own face was at Mrs Cream's -- was it at Mrs Cream's? -- when Maud had made me put on her blue silk gown -- was it blue? or had it been grey? -- and held up the little mirror. I put my hands to my eyes. The gown was blue, I was certain of it. Why, I had been wearing it when they got me into the madhouse! They had taken it from me -- and they had taken, too, Maud's mother's bag, and all the things that were in it -- the brushes and combs, the linen, the red prunella slippers -- I never saw those again. Instead -- I looked down at myself, at the tartan dress and rubber boots. I had grown almost used to them.

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I looked, as the lady had said, like a lunatic. My hair was still sewn to my head, but had grown or worked loose from its stitches, and stood out in tufts. My face was white but marked, here and there, with spots and scratches and fading bruises. My eyes were swollen -- from want of sleep, I suppose -- and red at the rims. My face was sharper than ever, my neck like a stick. The tartan gown hung on me like a laundry bag. From beneath its collar there showed the dirty white tips of the fingers of Maud's old glove, that I still wore next to my heart. You could just make out, on the kid-skin, the marks of my teeth.

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Now I saw them again for what they were; and wished I might see them better. The nurse who had been set to watch us was sitting with her eyes closed, dozing in the sun, but a little to the left of her was the window that looked into the drawing-room. It was dark, and showed the line of circling ladies, clear as a mirror. One of them had stopped, and had her hand at her face. -- I blinked. She blinked. She was me. I went slowly towards her, and looked myself over, in horror.

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I looked, for perhaps a minute. I looked, and thought of all the times that Mrs Sucksby had washed and combed and shined my hair, when I was a girl. I thought of her warming her bed before she put me in it, so I should not take chills. I thought of her putting aside, for me, the tenderest morsels of meat; and smoothing my teeth, when they cut; and passing her hands across my arms and legs, to be sure that they grew straight. I remembered how close and safe she had kept me, all the years of my life.

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I had gone to Briar, to make my fortune, so I might share it with her. Now my fortune was gone. Maud Lilly had stolen it and given me hers. She was supposed to be here. She had made me be her, while she was loose in the world, and every glass she gazed at -- as say, in milliners' shops, while she was fitted with gowns; or in theatres; or in halls, as she went dancing -- every glass showed her to be everything I was not -- to be handsome, and cheerful, and proud, and free -- I might have raged. I think I began to. Then I saw the look in my eye, and my face frightened me. I stood, not knowing what I should do, until the nurse on duty woke up, and came and jabbed me.

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"All right, Miss Vanity," she said with a yawn. "I dare say your heels are worth looking at, too. So let's see 'em." She pushed me back into the middle of the turning line; and I bowed my head and walked, watching the hem of my skirt, my boots, the boots of the lady in front -- anything, anything at all, to save me from lifting my gaze to the drawing-room window and seeing again the look in my own mad eye.

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Perhaps I ought to have made a mark, like convicts do, for every Sunday that came round; but of course, for many weeks there seemed no point -- each time one came I thought that, by the next, I should have got out. Then I began to grow muddled. It seemed to me that some weeks had two or three Sundays in them. Others seemed to have none. All we could tell for certain was, that spring had turned to summer: for the days grew long, the sun grew fiercer; and the house grew hot, like an oven. I remember the heat, almost more than anything. It was enough to make you mad all by itself.

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That, I suppose, was at the end of June. It might have been sooner, though. It was hard to know what dates were what. It was hard to tell so much as the day -- you only knew another week had gone by when, instead of spending all morning on your bed, you were made to stand in the drawing-room and listen while Dr Christie read prayers; then you knew it was a Sunday.

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But the fact of it was, as we all knew, no other madhouse would have had them; and they wouldn't have gone, anyway. They had it too easy. They talked all the time of how troublesome and sly their ladies were, and showed off bruises; but of course, the ladies were far too dazed and miserable to be sly, the trouble came all from the nurses when they fancied some sport. The rest of the time their job was the slightest one you can imagine, for they got us in bed at seven o'clock -- gave us those draughts, to make us sleep -- then they sat till midnight reading papers and books, making toast and cocoa, doing fancy-work, whistling, farting, standing at the door and calling down the hall to each other, even slipping in and out of each other's rooms when they were especially bored, leaving their ladies locked up and unguarded.

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The air in our rooms, for instance, became like soup. I think one or two ladies actually died, through breathing that air -- though of course, being medical men, Dr Graves and Dr Christie were able to pass off their deaths as strokes. I heard the nurses say that. They grew bad-tempered as the days grew warm. They complained of headaches and sweats. They complained of their gowns. "Why I stay here, looking after you, in wool," they'd say, pulling us about, "when I might be at Tunbridge Asylum, where the nurses all wear poplin --!"

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Nurse Bacon did, anyway. She complained of the heat more than anyone, because of the itch in her hands. She had Betty rubbing grease into her fingers ten times a day. Sometimes she would scream. And when the weather was at its warmest she put two china basins beside her bed and slept with her hands in water. That gave her dreams. "He's too slippy!" she cried one night. And then, in a mumble: "There, I've lost him…"

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I also dreamed. I seemed to dream every time I closed my eyes. I dreamed, as you might suppose I would, of Lant Street, of the Borough, of home. I dreamed of Mr Ibbs and Mrs Sucksby. -- Those were troubling dreams, however; often I woke weeping from dreams like that. Now and then I dreamed only of the madhouse: I would dream I had woken and had my day. Then I really would wake, and have the day still to do -- and yet, the day was so like the day I had dreamed, I might as well have dreamed them both. -- Those dreams bewildered me.

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And in the mornings, when Dr Christie had made his round, they would take off their caps, unpin their hair, roll down their stockings and lift their skirts; and they gave us newspapers and made us stand beside them and fan their great white legs.

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The worst dreams of all, however, were the dreams I began to have as the weeks slipped by and the nights grew hotter and I began to get more and more muddled in my mind. They were dreams of Briar, and of Maud.

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For I never dreamed of her as I knew she really was -- as a viper or a thief. I never dreamed of Gentleman. I only ever used to dream that we were back in her uncle's house, and I was her maid. I dreamed we walked to her mother's grave, or sat by the river. I dreamed I dressed her and brushed her hair. I dreamed -- you can't be blamed, can you, for what you dream? -- I dreamed I loved her. I knew I hated her. I knew I wanted to kill her. But sometimes I would wake, in the night, not knowing. I would open my eyes and look about me, and the room would be so warm everyone would have turned and fretted in their beds -- I would see Betty's great bare leg, Nurse Bacon's sweating face, Miss Wilson's arm. Mrs Price put back her hair as she slept, rather in the way that Maud had used to do: I would gaze at her in my half-sleep and quite forget the weeks that had passed, since the end of April.

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I would wake in a kind of dread, to think that, like Nurse Bacon, I might have said the words aloud -- or sighed, or quivered. And then I would lie and be filled with a terrible shame. For I hated her! I hated her! -- and yet I knew that, every time, I secretly wished that the dream had gone on to its end.

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"Don't be frightened," I would always answer. "Oh, don't be frightened." -- And at that moment, the dream would slip from me and I would wake.

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I would forget the flight from Briar, forget the wedding in the black flint church, forget the days at Mrs Cream's, the drive to the madhouse, the awful trick; forget I meant to escape, and what I planned to do when I had done it. I would only think, in a kind of panic, Where is she? Where is she? -- and then, with a rush of relief: There she is… I would close my eyes again and, in an instant, be not in my bed at all but in hers. The curtains would be let down, and she would be beside me. I would feel her breath. "How close the night is, tonight!" she would say, in her soft voice; and then: "I'm afraid! I'm afraid --!"

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You caught the commotion of it from your bed: the shrieking, the ringing of bells, the pounding of running feet. It broke into the hot and silent night, like a clap of thunder; and though you knew, each time, what it was, still the sounds came so strangely -- and sometimes one lady would set off another; and then you would lie and wonder whether that mightn't set off you, and you would seem to feel the fit gathering inside you, you would start to sweat, perhaps to twitch -- oh, those were dreadful nights!

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I began to be afraid I would rise in my sleep. Say I tried to kiss Mrs Price, or Betty? But if I tried to stay awake, then I grew bewildered. I imagined fearful things. Those nights were queer nights. For though the heat made us all grow stupid, it also now and then sent ladies -- even quiet, obedient ladies -- into fits.

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Betty might moan. Mrs Price would start to weep. Nurse Bacon would rise: "Hush! Hush!" she'd say. She would open the door, lean out and listen. Then the shrieking would stop, the footsteps begin to fade.

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"That's got her," she'd say. "Now, will they pad her, I wonder, or plunge her?" -- and at that word, plunge, Betty would moan again, and Mrs Price and even old Miss Wilson wouid shudder and hide their heads. I didn't know why.

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But then, one time, it was. We woke to the sound of choking and found sad Mrs Price on the floor beside her bed, biting her fingers so hard she was making them bleed. Nurse Bacon went for the bell, and the men and Dr Christie came running: they bound Mrs Price and carried her off downstairs, and when they brought her back, an hour later, her gown and her hair were streaming water and she looked half-drowned. -- I learned then that being plunged meant being dropped in a bath. That gave me some comfort, at least; for it seemed to me that being bathed could not be nearly so bad as being suckered and pumped… I still knew nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

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"I don't know what you're quaking at," she would say to all of us, nastily, as she went back to her bed. "Wasn't one of you that went off, was it?"

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The word was a peculiar one and no-one would explain it: I could only suppose it must involve being pumped, like a drain, with a black rubber sucker. That thought was so horrible that soon whenever Nurse Bacon said it I began to shudder, too.

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They had beer on this night, on account of it being Nurse Bacon's birthday night; and because it was hot they took too much of it and got drunk. I lay with the sheet across my face, but kept my eyes half open. I dared not try to sleep while they were there, in case I dreamed of Maud again; for it had got with me what you might call -- or what Dr Christie, I suppose, might call -- a morbid fear, of giving myself away. And then again, I thought I ought to keep awake, in case they drank so much they drank themselves into a stupor; for then I could rise and steal their keys…

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Then something happened. There came a day -- I think it was the hottest day of all that stifling summer -- that turned out to be Nurse Bacon's birthday; and on the night of it, she had some other nurses come secretly to our room, to give them a party. They did this, sometimes, as I think I have said. They weren't allowed to, and their talking made it harder than ever for the rest of us to sleep; but we should never have dared tell a doctor -- for then the nurses would have put it down to delusions and, after, hit us. They made us lie very still, while they sat about playing cards or dominoes, drinking lemonade and, sometimes, beer.

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At last I looked at their fat red sweating faces and their great wet open mouths, and wished I had a gun and could shoot them.

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"Let us see yours, Belinda," another cried then. Belinda was Nurse Bacon. They all had dainty names like that. You could imagine their mothers looking at them when they were babies, thinking they would grow up ballerinas.

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They sat boasting of which ladies they had recently hurt, and how they had done it. They fell to comparing grips. They put their hands to one another's, palm to palm, to see who had the biggest. Then one of them showed her arm.

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They did not, however. Instead, they grew livelier and more noisy and red in the face, and the room grew hotter. I think that now and then I did fall into a doze: I began to hear their voices like the far-off, hollow voices you hear in dreams. Then, every so often one of them would give a shout, or snort with laughter; the others would shush her, then snort with laughter themselves that would bring me back to myself, with a horrible jolt.

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"Go on, let us see it." Nurse Bacon pretended to look modest; then she put back her cuff. Her arm was thick as a coal-whipper's, but white. When she bent it, it bulged. "That's Irish muscle," she said, "come down on my grandmother's side." The other nurses felt it, and whistled. Then one of them said, "I should say, with an arm like that, you're almost a match for Nurse Flew."

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Nurse Flew was a swivel-eyed woman with a room on the floor below. She was said to have once been a matron in a gaol.

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Now Nurse Bacon coloured up. "A match?" she said. "I should like to see her arm beside mine, that's all. Then we'd see whose was the greater. A match? I'll match her, all right!"

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She did not see me, watching her and wishing her dead through half-closed eyes. She showed her arm again, and again made the muscle bulge. "A match, indeed," she grumbled. She nodded to one of the nurses. "You fetch Nurse Flew up here. Then we'll see. Margaretta, you get a string."

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Her voice woke Betty and Mrs Price. She looked, and saw them stirring. "Get back to sleep," she said.

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The nurses rose, and swayed, and tittered, and then went off.

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The first came back after a minute with Nurse Flew, Nurse Spiller, and the dark-headed nurse that had helped to undress me on my first day. They had all been drinking together, downstairs. Nurse Spiller looked about her with her hands on her hips and said, "Well, if Dr Christie could see you!" She belched. "What's this about arms?"

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She bared her own. Nurse Flew and the dark nurse bared theirs.

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The other nurse came back with a length of ribbon and a ruler, and they took it in turns to measure their muscles.

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"Fifteen!" they cried, their voices rising. Then: "Sixteen! -- Seventeen! -- Eighteen-and-a-half! -- Nineteen! Nurse Flew has it!"

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I watched them do it, as a man in a darkened wood might, disbelieving his own eyes, watch goblins; for they stood in a ring and moved the lamp from arm to arm, and it threw strange lights and cast queer shadows; and the beer, and the heat, and the excitement of the measuring made them seem to lurch and hop.

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They broke their circle then, and put down the light, and fell about quarrelling -- not so much like goblins, suddenly, as like sailors. You half expected them to have tattoos.

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She rubbed her hands across her waist. "Now, what about weight?" She put up her chin. "Who here says they're heavier than me?"

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"It's no good," they said. "You wriggle about so, we can't tell. We need another way. What say you stand upon a chair and jump? We'll see who makes the floor creak most."

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Nurse Bacon's face was darker than ever. She said sulkily, "As to arms, well, I'll let Nurse Flew take it this time; though I'm sure fat oughtn't to count the same as muscle."

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Nurse Spiller snorted. "She'd squeak for Belinda," she said, "every time. Don't make it her, that ain't fair. Make it old Miss Wilson."

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At once, two or three of them got up beside her and said they were. The others tried to pick them up, in order to prove it. One of them fell down.

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"What say," said the dark-haired nurse with a laugh, "you jump on Betty? See who makes her creak."

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"See who makes her squeak!" They looked at Betty's bed. Betty had opened her eyes at the sound of her name -- now she shut them and began to shake.

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"She'd squeak all right!"

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"She'd cry! Crying's no -- " :

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"Or, Mrs Price."

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One of them said it -- I don't know who -- and, though they had all been laughing, now their laughter died. I think they looked at each other. Then Nurse Spiller spoke.

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"Make it Maud!"

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"Pass a chair," I heard her say, "for standing on --"

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"Wait! Wait!" cried another nurse. "What are you thinking of? You cant jump on her, it'll kill her." She paused, as if to wipe her mouth. "Lie on her, instead."

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And at that, I put back the sheet from my face and opened my eyes up wide. Perhaps I shouldn't have done it, just then. Perhaps, after all, they had only been larking.

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But I put back the sheet, and they saw me looking; and then they all started laughing again and came towards me in a rush. They plucked the blankets off me and took the pillow from under my head. Two of them leaned on my feet, and another two caught my arms. They did it in a moment. They were like one great hot sweating beast with fifty heads, with fifty panting mouths and a hundred hands. When I struggled, they pinched me. I said, "You leave me alone!"

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"I will," I heard Nurse Flew say, and the others moved back a little for her to come forward. She was smoothing down her gown. "Have you got her?" she said.

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Someone hit me in the face. Someone else jerked my leg. "Spoil sport," they said. "Now, who's to go on her first?"

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"We've got her."

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"Get off me! Get off me! I'll tell Dr Christie!"

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"Shut up," they said. "We aren't going to hurt you. We only want to see who's heaviest out of Nurse Bacon, Nurse Spiller and Nurse Flew. We only want to see which of them will make you squeak most. Are you ready?"

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"Right. Hold her still."

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Then they pulled me tight, as if I were a wet sheet and they meant to wring me. My thoughts, at that moment, aren't fit to be described. I was sure they would tear the arms and legs off me. I was sure they would snap my bones. I started to shout and, again, I was struck in the face and jerked about; so then I fell silent. Then Nurse Flew got on to the bed and, lifting up her skirt, knelt astride of me. The bed gave a creak. She rubbed her hands and fixed me with her swivel-eye.

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I sucked in my breath, I spluttered and coughed. Then they drew me tight again, for Nurse Spiller's turn. She was worse than Nurse Flew -- not heavier, but more awkward, for she lay with the points of her limbs, her knees and her elbows and her hips, pressing hard into mine; and her corset was a stiff one, with edges that seemed to cut me like a saw. Her hair had an oil upon it and smelt sour, and her breath was loud, like thunder, in my ear. "Come on, you little bitch," she said to me, "sing out!" -- but I had some pride, even then. I closed my jaws and wouldn't, though she pressed and pressed; at last the nurses cried, "Oh, shame! No points for Nurse Spiller at all!" -- and she gave a final grind to her knees, and swore, and got off.

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My eyes, my nose and mouth, began to run. "Please --!" I said.

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Nurse Bacon had stopped her. "No dropping," she said. "Dropping won't be fair. Go down slowly, or not at all."

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"Here I come!" she said, making to fall upon me. But the fall never came, though I screwed up my face and drew in my breath, to take it.

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They eased off tugging me, then. Nurse Flew kissed my cheek and got off me, and I saw her stand with her hands above her head, like the winner of a boxing match.

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So Nurse Flew moved back, then came slowly forward, and lowered herself down by her hands and knees until her weight was all upon me. The breath I had drawn in was all squeezed out. I think, if I had had a floor under-neath me instead of a bed, she would have killed me.

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"She cries Please!" said the dark-haired nurse. "That means five points to Nurse Flew!"

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I lifted my head from the mattress. My eyes were streaming water, but beyond the circle of nurses I could see Betty and Miss Wilson and Mrs Price, looking on and shaking but pretending to sleep. They were afraid of what might be done to them. I don't blame them.

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I let my head fall back, and again shut tight my jaws. Now came Nurse Bacon. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her swollen hands so red against the white of her arms, she might have had gloves on. She sat astride of me as Nurse Flew had, and flexed her fingers.

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Then she came upon me. She came faster than the others, and the shock and the weight of her was awful. I cried out, and the nurses clapped. "Ten points!" they said.

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"Now, Maud," she said. She caught hold of the hem of my nightgown, and pulled it and made it tidy. She patted my leg. "Now then, Miss Muffet. Who's my own good girl?"

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Nurse Bacon laughed. I felt the shudder of it, like rolling-pins; and that made me screw up my eyes and cry out louder. Then she shuddered again, on purpose. The nurses cheered. Then she did this. She pushed herself up on her hands, so that her face was above me but her bosom and stomach and legs still hard on my own; and she moved her hips. She moved them in a certain way. My eyes flew open. She gave me a leer.

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Then, I can't quite say what happened. I think the nurses that were holding me let go; but I think I kept on struggling and shrieking, as if they had me still. Nurse Bacon rolled from me; I think that someone -- probably, Nurse Spiller -- hit me; yet still my fit kept on.

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"Like it, do you?" she said, still moving. "No? We heard you did."

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"Get off me!" I shrieked. "Get off me! Get off me! Get off!"

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Nurse Bacon felt me wriggle, and her laughter died. She pushed again upon me, harder, with her hips. I saw her hot red face above my own and butted it with my head. Her nose went crack. She gave a cry. There came blood on my cheek.

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And at that, the nurses roared. They roared, and I saw on their faces as they gazed at me that nasty look I had seen before but never understood. I understood it now, of course; and all at once I guessed what Maud must have said to Dr Christie, that time at Mrs Cream's. The thought that she had said it -- that she had said it, before Gentleman, as a way of making me out to be mad -- struck me like a blow to the heart. I had had many such blows, since I left Briar; but this, just then, seemed like the worst. It was as if I were filled with gunpowder, and had just been touched with a match. I began to struggle, and to shriek.

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"What was it?" Dr Christie said again. "A dream?"

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I have an idea that Betty started up bellowing -- that other ladies, in rooms close by, took up the screams and shouts from ours. I think the nurses ran.

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"Catch up these bottles and cups!" I heard one of them say, as she flew off with the others. Then someone must have taken fright and caught hold of one of the handles in the hall: there came a bell.

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The bell brought men and then, after another minute, Dr Christie. He was pulling on his coat. He saw me, still kicking and thrashing on the bed, with the blood from Nurse Bacon's nose upon me.

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"She's in a paroxysm," he cried. "A bad one. Good Lord, what was it set her off?"

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Nurse Bacon said nothing. She had her hand at her face, but her eyes were on mine.

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That made me shriek all over again. Dr Christie said, "Right. We know our treatment for paroxysms. You men, and Nurse Spiller. Cold water plunge. Thirty minutes."

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"A dream," she answered. Then she looked at him, and started into life. "Oh, Dr Christie," she said, "she was saying a lady's name, and moving, as she slept!"

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The men caught hold of me by the arms and picked me up. I had been pressed so hard by the nurses that it seemed to me now, as they set me upright, that I was beginning to float.

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What I recall most is the wooden frame they fixed me to, at the arms and legs; and then, the creaking of it, as they winched it up and swung it over the water; the swaying of it, as I pulled against the straps. Then I remember the drop, as they let fly the wheel -- the shock, as they caught it -- the closing of the icy water over my face, the rushing of it into my mouth and nose, as I tried to gasp -- the sucking of it, when I spluttered and coughed.

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In fact, they dragged me: I found the grazes upon my toes, next day. But I don't remember, now, being taken down from that floor, to the basement of the house. I don't remember passing the door to the pads -- going on, down that dark corridor, to the room where they kept the bath. I remember the roaring of the faucets, the chill of the tiles beneath my feet -- but, only dimly.

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I thought they had hanged me.

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I thought I had died. Then they winched me up, and dropped me again. A minute to winch me, and a minute to plunge. Fifteen plunges in all. Fifteen shocks. Fifteen tugs on the rope of my life.

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There was talk of putting canvas bracelets on me, in case I should break out in another fit; but I lay so quietly, they gave the idea up. Nurse Bacon spoke with Dr Christie, in my behalf. Her eye was black where I had butted it, and I supposed that, getting me alone, she would knock me about -- I think that, if she had, I would have taken the blows, unflinching.

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They might have killed me, after all. I lay in darkness. I did not dream. I did not think. You could not say I was myself, for I was no-one. Perhaps I never was to be quite myself, again. For when I woke, everything was changed. They put me back in my old gown and my old boots and took me back to my old room, and I went with them just like a lamb. I was covered in bruises and burns, yet hardly felt them. I did not weep. I sat and, like the other ladies, looked at nothing.

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After that, I don't remember anything.

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If the ladies spoke of London ever, they spoke of a place they remembered from when they were girls, in Society -- a place so different from the city I knew, it might as well have been Bombay. No-one called me by my own name. I began to answer to Maud and Mrs Rivers; sometimes it seemed to me I must be Maud, since so many people said I was.

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But it seemed to me that she was changed, like everything else. She looked at me oddly; and when that night I lay in bed and the other ladies had closed their eyes, she caught my gaze. "All right?" she said softly. She glanced at the other beds, then looked back at me. "No harm -- eh, Maud? All fun, ain't it? We must have our bit of fun, mustn't we? or we should go mad…"

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I turned my face away. I think she still watched me, though. I did not care. I cared for nothing, now. I had kept up my nerve and my spirit, all that time.

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I had waited for my chance of escaping and got nowhere. Suddenly, my memories of Mrs Sucksby and Mr Ibbs, of Gentleman, even of Maud, seemed to grow dim. It was as if my head were filled with smoke, or had a fluttering curtain across it. When I tried to go over the streets of the Borough in my mind, I found I lost my way. No-one else in that house knew those streets.

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I heard, however, that the truth was he had gone off cures altogether: for he had cured the lady who had spoken like a snake, and done it so well her mother had taken her home; and what with that, and the ladies who had died, the house had lost money.

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And sometimes I even seemed to dream, not my own dreams, but hers; and sometimes to remember things, from Briar, that she had said and done, as if I had said and done them.

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The nurses -- all except Nurse Bacon -- grew cooler than ever with me, after the night I was plunged. But I got used to being shaken and bullied and slapped. I got used to seeing other ladies bullied in their turn. I got used to it all. I got used to my bed, to the blazing lamp, to Miss Wilson and Mrs Price, to Betty, to Dr Christie. I should not, now, have minded a leech. But he never brought one. He said my calling myself Maud showed, not that I was better, but only that my malady had taken a different turn, and would turn back. Until it did, there was no point in trying to cure me; so he stopped trying.

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I might be there, today. I still think of that and shudder. I might never have got out; and Mrs Sucksby and Mr Ibbs, and Gentleman, and Maud -- where would they be, now?

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I think of that, too.

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God knows what else I might have got used to. God knows how long they would have kept me in that place -- maybe, years. Maybe as long as poor Miss Wilson: for perhaps she -- who knows? -- was as sane as I had been, when her brother first put her in.

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Now, each morning, he felt my heart-beat and looked into my mouth, and then moved on. He did not stay long in the bedrooms at all, once the air grew so close and so foul. We, of course, spent most of our time there; and I even got used to that.

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Fortune kept me at Dr Christie's nearly all that summer long; then listen to who it sent me.

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This was five or six weeks, I suppose, after they had plunged me -- some time in July. Think how stupid I had got by then. The season was still a warm one, and we had all begun to sleep, all the hours of the day. We slept in the mornings, while we waited for the dinner-bell to be rung; and, in the afternoons, you would see ladies all over the drawing-room, dozing, nodding their heads, dribbling into their collars. There was nothing else to do. There was nothing to stay awake for. And sleeping made time pass.

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But then, I did get out. Blame Fortune. Fortune's blind, and works in peculiar ways. Fortune sent Helen of Troy to the Greeks -- didn't it? -- and a prince, to the Sleeping Beauty.

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Nurse Spiller folded her arms. "Don't want him, then? Shall I send him home?" She looked at Nurse Bacon, who was still rubbing her knuckles and wincing. "Bad?" she said.

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I slept as much as anyone. I slept so much that when Nurse Spiller came to our room one morning and said, "Maud Rivers, you're to come with me, you've a visitor," they had to wake me up and tell me again; and when they had, I didn't know what they meant.

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Nurse Spiller tutted. I said again, "A visitor? For me?"

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"A visitor?" I said.

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"Like scorpions'stings, Nurse Spiller."

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She yawned. "For Mrs Rivers, anyway. Are you her today, or not?"

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I did not know. But I rose, on shaking legs, feeling the blood rush from my heart -- for if the visitor was a man then I could only think that, whether I was Maud, or Sue, or whoever I was, he must be Gentleman. My world had shrunk to that point, that I only knew that I had been harmed, and that he had done it. I looked at Miss Wilson. I had an idea that I had said to her, three months before, that if Gentleman came I would kill him. I had meant it, then. Now the thought of seeing his face was so unexpected, it made me sick.

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Nurse Spiller saw me hesitate. "Come on," she said, "if you are coming! Don't mind your hair." -- I had put my hand to my head. "I'm sure, the madder he knows you to be, the better. Saves disappointment, don't it?" She glanced at Nurse Bacon. Then: "Come on!" she said again; and I gave a twitch, then stumbled after her into the passage and down the stairs.

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Some nurses, and one or two men, were standing about in the hall, taking breaths from the open door; one of the men held a cigarette and, when he saw Nurse Spiller, he hid it. They did not look at me, however, and I hardly looked at them. I was thinking of what was to come, and feeling sicker and stranger by the second.

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"In here," said Nurse Spiller, jerking her head towards the door of the drawing-room. Then she caught my arm and pulled me to her. "And you remember: none of your fibs. The pads are nice and cool, on a day like this. Ain't been used in a while. My word's as good as a man's, while the doctors are away. You hear me?"

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It was a Wednesday -- that was luck, though I did not know it yet, for on Wednesdays Dr Christie and Dr Graves went off in their coach to drum up new lady lunatics, and the house was quiet.

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I had expected Gentleman. It wasn't him. It was a fair-haired, blue-eyed boy in a blue pea-jacket, and in the first second of my seeing him I felt a rush of mixed relief and disappointment so sharp, I almost swooned away; for I thought him a stranger, and supposed that there had been a mistake, he must have come for someone else. Then I saw him looking over my features in a bewildered sort of way; and then at last, at last -- as if his face and name were slowly rising to the surface of my brain, through mists or cloudy water -- at last I knew him, even out of his servant's suit. He was Charles, the knife-boy from Briar. He looked me over, as I have said; then he tilted his head and looked past me, and past Nurse Spiller, as if he thought that Maud must be coming along behind. Then he looked at me again, and his eyes grew wide.

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She shook me. Then she pushed me into the room. "Here she is," she said, in a different voice, to the person waiting there.

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And it was that, that saved me. His were the first two eyes, in all the time that had passed since I left Mrs Cream's, that had looked at me and seen, not Maud, but Sue. They gave me back my past. They gave me my future, too -- for in the second of standing in the doorway, meeting his gaze, seeing it slip from me and then come back baffled, my own confusion began to leave me and I formed a plan. I formed it whole, complete in every part. It was desperate.

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I kept hold of his hand, and wrung it. He stepped back. He had been wearing a cap, that had left a scarlet line across his brow. Now his face grew scarlet all over. He opened his mouth. He said, "Miss, I -- Miss --"

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Nurse Spiller heard him and said, in a sort of nasty satisfaction, "Well, ain't it marvellous how quick a lady's head will clear, when she sees a dear face from home? Shan't Dr Christie be pleased?"

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And I went to him and caught hold of his hand, not taking my eyes away from his; and then I pulled him to me and I whispered, almost weeping, in his ear: "Say I'm her, or I'm done for! I'll give you anything at all! Say I'm her! Oh, please say I'm her!"

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"Charles!" I said. I was not used to speaking, and it came out like a croak.

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I turned and caught her eye. She looked sour. She said, "Will you keep your young man standing? That have come all this way? That's right, you sit. Not too close though, young sir, if I was you. We can't say when they won't fly off and start clawing; even the meek ones. That's better. Now, I'll keep over here, by the door, and if she starts kicking up, you sing out -- all right?"

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"Charles, you hardly know me. I think -- I think I must be very changed. But oh, how good of you to come and make a visit to your old mistress!"

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Of course, he called me that, at Briar. Thank God he did!

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Nurse Spiller stood in the open doorway. It was cooler there. She folded her arms and watched us; but she also, now and then, turned her head into the hall, to nod and murmur to the nurses beyond.

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We had sat, in two hard chairs, close to the window. Charles still looked bewildered; now he also began to wink and look afraid.

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What was I thinking of? Well, the fact was I was thinking of the lady who had spoken like a snake, and the two old ladies that had died. I was thinking of what Dr Christie had said, about my malady having taken a different turn, but being sure, in time, to turn back.

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I still held Charles's hand in both of mine. I could not give it up. I leaned towards him, trembling, and spoke in a whisper. I said, "Charles, I -- Charles, I never was so glad to see anyone, anyone in all my life! You have -- You have to help me."

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"Hush! Hush! I am. Oh, I am!" My eyes began to water. "But you mustn't say it here. You must say -- " I glanced at Nurse Spiller, then spoke more quietly still. "You must say I'm Miss Lilly. Don't ask me why."

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He swallowed. He said, in the same low voice, "You are Miss Smith?"

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"Don't ask me why," I said again. "But, oh, what a trick has been played on me! They have made out I'm mad, Charles."

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I was thinking that if he heard Charles say that I was Sue not Maud, he might find a way to keep me closer -- perhaps bind me, pad me, plunge me, plunge Charles too. -- In other words, terror had turned my brain. But I also had that plan. It was growing clearer by the second.

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He looked about him. "This house is a house for mad people?" he said. "I supposed it a great hotel. I supposed I should find Miss Lilly here. And -- and Mr Rivers."

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I squeezed Charles's fingers, to keep from talking louder. I squeezed them, almost out of their joints. And I glanced fearfully towards Nurse Spiller at the door. Her head was turned. She had her back to the doorpost and was laughing with the nurses and the men. I looked back at Charles, meaning to speak again. But his face had changed, and stopped me. His cheek had turned from flaming scarlet, to white. He said, in a whisper, "Mr Rivers, gone to London?"

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"Mr Rivers," I said. "Oh! Oh! That devil! He has swindled me, Charles, and gone to London with money that was to be mine. Him and Maud Lilly! Oh! What a pair! They have left me here, to die --!"

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My voice had risen, I could not help it: someone else -- someone really mad -- might have been speaking out of my mouth.

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He swallowed. He twitched. Then he tore his fingers from mine and covered his face with his hands.

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"He said he would whip me raw," he said; "and he did. Lord, how he made me shriek! But that whipping was nothing -- I should say, a hundred whippings would be nothing! -- compared to the smarting, miss, of my disappointed heart."

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"To London," I said, "or to heaven knows where. To hell, I shouldn't wonder!"

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"Oh! Oh!" he said, in a shaking voice -- just as I had. "Oh, then I'm ruined!"

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And to my very great astonishment, he began to cry. His story came leaking out, then, along with his tears. It turned out that -- just as I had guessed, months before -- a life spent sharpening knives at Briar seemed a life not worth having, once Gentleman had gone. Charles had felt it so hard, he had begun to mope. He had moped so long, Mr Way the steward had taken a whip to him.

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He said that, in a way that made me think he had practised it; then he held himself stiff, as if he imagined I would hit him, or laugh, and was ready to suffer any blow. But what I said -- bitterly -- was, "I believe you. Mr Rivers makes hearts do that." I was thinking of Maud's.

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When she had looked into the hall again, I turned back to Charles. Seeing him so miserable made me calmer in my own head. I let him shake a little longer and, as he did it, studied him closer. I saw, what I had not seen at first -- that his neck was dirty, and his hair was strange -- here pale and fluffy as feathers, here dark and stiff where he had wet it to make it lie smooth. There was a twig caught up in the wool of the sleeve of his jacket. His trousers were marked with dust.

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I said quietly, "Be a good boy now, and tell me the truth. You've run off, haven't you, from Briar?"

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His face grew shiny. He wiped his nose. Then he started crying again. Nurse Spiller looked over and curled her lip. But that was all she did. Perhaps people cried a lot, when they came to see their lady relatives, at Dr Christie's.

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He bit his lip, then nodded. I said, "And all for Mr Rivers's sake?" He nodded again. Then he drew in a shuddering breath.

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He wiped his eyes and saw me looking, and blushed harder than ever.

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Charles seemed not to notice. "He does!" he said. "What a gentleman! Oh, but ain't he?"

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"Mr Rivers used to say to me, miss," he said, "that he would take me on to man for him, if only he'd the money for a proper man's wages. I thought, I would rather work for him for no wages at all, than stay at Briar. But how was I to find him out, in London? Then came all that stir, with Miss Lilly taking off. The house've been on its head since then. We did suppose her flown after him, but no-one was quite sure. They are calling it a scandal. Half the girls have gone. Mrs Cakebread've gone, to another man's kitchen! Now Margaret cooks. Mr Lilly ain't in his right mind. Mr Way has to feed him his dinners off a spoon!"

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"I don't know, miss." He shook his head. "They say it took him a week to feel it. For he was calm at first; then he found some harm had been done to some of his books -- or, something like that. Then he fell in a fit on his library floor. Now he can't hold a pen or anything, and forgets his words. Mr Way made me push him about, in a great wheeled chair; but, I could hardly go ten yards -- I could hardly do anything! -- for breaking out crying. In the end I got sent to my aunty's, to look at her black-faced pigs. They do say" -- he wiped his nose again -- "they do say that watching pigs cures melancholy. It never cured mine, though…"

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"Mrs Cakebread," I said, frowning. "Mr Way." The names were like so many lights: each time one was lit, another part of my brain grew brighter. "Margaret. Mr Lilly." And then: "Off a spoon! And all -- And all from Maud's running off with Mr Rivers?"

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I had stopped listening. There had come on a light in my head, that was brighter than all the rest. I took his hand again. "Black-faced pigs?" I said, screwing up my eyes. He nodded.

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His aunty was Mrs Cream.

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I suppose it's like that in the country. I had never thought to ask him his last name. He had slept in the very same room as me, on the same straw mattress, that was filled with bugs. When his aunty had begun to talk of the gentleman and lady that had come and been secretly married, he had guessed at once who they were but, hardly believing his own luck, had said nothing. He found out they'd gone off together in a coach; and from his cousin -- Mrs Cream's eldest son, who had talked with the coachman -- he had got the name of Dr Christie's house, and where it was.

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"I supposed it a great hotel," he said again -- again looking fearfully about him, at the wire on the lamps, the bare grey walls, the bars on the windows. He had run off from Mrs Cream's three nights before, and had slept in ditches and hedges since then. -- Too late," he said, "to turn back, when I got here. I asked at the gate for Mr Rivers. They looked in a book, and said I must mean his wife. Then I remembered what a kind lady Miss Maud always was; and that if anyone should talk Mr Rivers round to taking me on, she should. And now --!"

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"Charles," I said, leaning closer to him and nerving myself to seem calm. "You can't go back to Briar."

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"And I dare say your aunty don't want you."

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"I can't, miss," he said. "Oh, I can't! Mr Way would skin me alive!"

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He shook his head. "She would call me a fool, for running off."

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"It's Mr Rivers you're after."

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His lip began again to tremble. Really, Mr Way was right: he was far too big a boy to be so tearful, and at any other time, in any other, ordinary place, I should have hit him myself. But for now, I looked at his tears, and to my bruised and desperate eyes they were like so many pick-locks and keys.

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He bit his lip, and nodded, still crying.

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"Then listen to me," I said -- barely speaking at all, barely whispering now, only breathing the words, for fear Nurse Spiller would catch them. "Listen to me. I can take you to him. I know where he is. I know the very house! I can take you to him. But first, you must help me out of here."

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If it wasn't quite true that I knew where Gentleman was, then it wasn't quite a lie, either; for I was pretty certain that, once I reached London and got help from Mrs Sucksby, I should find him. But I would have lied anyway, just then. I dare say you would have, too.

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Again he looked about him. Then he looked at me -- just as, a moment before, I had looked at him -- as if seeing me for the first time. He looked at my hair, my dress, my india-rubber boots. I drew my feet under my skirt.

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He looked, and blinked. "Well --"

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Charles stared at me, and wiped his face with the heel of his hand. "Help you out of here, how?" he said. "Why mayn't you walk out, miss, just whenever you please?"

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I swallowed. "They think I'm mad, Charles. There's an order been signed -- well, never mind by who -- that keeps me here. It's the law. See that nurse? See her arm? They've got twenty nurses with arms like that; and they know how to use 'em. Now, look at my face. Am I mad?"

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"I -- I'm not sure," he said.

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"Of course I ain't. But here, there are some lunatics so crafty, they pass as sane; and the doctors and nurses can't see the difference between me, and one of them."

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"Not sure? Not sure of what? Of whether you want to go back to your aunty's and live with the pigs? Or whether you want to go and be man to Mr Rivers, in London -- London, mind! Remember them elephants a boy can ride on for a shilling? Tricky choice, I call that."

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"Pigs?" I said quickly. "Or elephants? Which is it to be? For God's sake, which?"

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He lowered his gaze. I looked at Nurse Spiller. She had glanced our way, was yawning, and had taken out a watch.

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"Good boy. Good boy. Thank God. Now, listen. How much money have you got?"

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He worked his lips. "Elephants," he said, after a terrible silence.

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"All right. Here's what you must do. You must go to any town, and find a locksmith's shop; and when you find it you must ask them for -- " I pressed my hand to my eyes. I thought I felt that cloudy water rising again, that flapping curtain. I nearly screamed in fright. Then the curtain drew back -- "for a ward key," I said, "a ward key, with a one-inch blank. Say your master wants it. If the man won't sell it, you must steal one. Now, don't look like that! We shall send the man another when we reach London. When you've got the blank, keep it safe. Go next to a blacksmith's. Get a file -- see my fingers? -- same width as this. Show me the width I mean. Good boy, you got it. Keep the file safe as the blank. Bring them back here, next week -- next Wednesday, only Wednesday will do! do you hear me? -- and slip them to me. Understand me? Charles?"

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He swallowed. "Five shillings and sixpence," he said.

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"You'll remember, won't you, what I've said?"

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We stood. I kept hold of the back of my chair, to keep from sinking. I looked at Charles, as if my eyes could burn into his. I had let his hand fall, but now reached for it again.

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"Time's up," she said.

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He stared. I had begun to grow wild again. But then he nodded. Then his gaze moved past me and he twitched. Nurse Spiller had left the door-place and was headed our way.

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He jumped.

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He nodded, in a frightened way. He dropped his gaze. He made to draw free his hand and step away. Then a queer thing happened. I felt his fingers move across my palm and found I could not let them go.

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She began to ungrip my fingers. It took her a moment or two. When his hand was free, Charles drew it quickly back and put his knuckles to his mouth.

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"Now then," said Nurse Spiller. "We've no time for this. Come on."

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"Don't leave me!" I said. The words came from nowhere. "Don't leave me, please!"

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"Sad, ain't it?" Nurse Spiller said to him, her arms about my own. My shoulders jumped. "Don't you mind it, though. It takes them all like this. Better not to come at all, we say. Better not to remind 'em of home. Whips 'em up." She drew me tighter. Charles shrank away. "You be sure now, to tell your people that, when you say what a sad way you found her in -- won't you?"

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But I could see him looking at me now and thinking that I must be mad, after all; and if he thought that, then I was done for, I should be at Dr Christie's house for ever, I should never see Mrs Sucksby and never have my revenge on Maud. -- That thought was sharper than my fear. I willed myself calm, and Nurse Spiller at last let me go. Another nurse came forward, to see Charles to the door: they let me watch him leave, and oh! it was all I could do to keep from running after.

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He looked from her to me, and nodded. I said, "Charles, I'm sorry." My teeth were chattering about the words. "Don't mind it. It's nothing. Nothing at all."

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"You'll remember!" I called, my voice high and strange. "You'll remember the elephants!"

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The nurses shrieked with laughter then. One gave me a push. My strength was all gone, and the push knocked me over. I lay in a heap. "Elephants!" they said. They stood and laughed at me, until they wept.

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As he went, he turned, and stumbled, and met my gaze. Then he looked shocked again. I had tried to smile, and suppose the smile was dreadful.

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"Punishment Day," she'd answer, wincing and rubbing her hands.

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That week was a terrible one. I had got my own mind back, the house seemed crueller than ever, and I saw how far I had sunk before in growing used to it. Say I grew used to it again, in seven days? Say I grew stupid? Say Charles came back, and I was too funked to know him? The thought nearly killed me. I did everything I could to keep myself from slipping into a dream again. I pinched my own arms, until they were black with bruises. I bit my own tongue.

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Then there was the fear that, after all, Charles wouldn't come -- that I had been too mad -- that he would lose his nerve, or be overtaken by disaster. I thought of all the likely and unlikely things that might keep him from me -- such as, his being seized by gipsies or thieves; run down by bulls; falling in with honest people, who would persuade him to go back home. One night it rained, and I thought of the ditch he was sleeping in filling up with water and him being drowned. Then there came thunder and lightning; and I imagined him sheltering under a tree, with a file in his hand…

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Each morning I woke with a horrible sense that days had slipped away and I had not noticed.

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"What day is today?" I'd ask Miss Wilson and Mrs Price. Of course, they never knew. Miss Wilson always thought, Good Friday.

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Then I'd ask Nurse Bacon. "What day is today, Nurse Bacon?"

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This time, Charles looked more afraid than ever. We sat in the same two seats as before and, again, Nurse Spiller stood in the door-place and larked with the nurses in the hall. We sat for a minute in silence. His cheek was white as chalk. I said, in a whisper, "Charles, did you do it?"

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"The blank?"

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He nodded.

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He nodded again.

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"But the blank," he said, in a complaining tone, "cost nearly all my money. The locksmith said that some blanks are blanker than others. You never told me that. I got the blankest he had."

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"The file?"

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Another nod.

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I parted my fingers, and met his gaze.

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I put my hand before my eyes.

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The whole week passed like that. Then Wednesday came. Dr Graves and Dr Christie went off in their coach and, late in the morning, Nurse Spiller arrived at the door to our room, looked at me and said, "Well, ain't we charming? There's a certain young shaver downstairs, come back for another visit. We shall be putting out the banns, at this rate…" She led me down. In the hall, she gave me a poke. "No monkeying about," she said.

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Then I told him what he must do next. I said he must wait for me, that night, on the other side of Dr Christie's park wall. I said he must find the spot where the highest tree grew, and wait for me there. He must wait all night, if he had to -- for I could not say, for sure, how long my escape would take me. He must only wait, and be ready to run. And if I did not come at all, he must know that something had happened to stop me; and then he must come back the next night and wait again -- he must do that, three nights over.

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"How much did you give him?" I asked.

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Three shillings for a sixpenny blank! I covered my eyes again. Then, "Never mind," I said. "Never mind. Good boy…"

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"Three shillings, miss."

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"And if you don't come, then?" he asked, his eyes wide.

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"If I don't come then," I said, "you do this: you go to London, and you find out a street named Lant Street, and a lady that lives there, named Mrs Sucksby; and you tell her where I am. God help me, Charles, that lady loves me! -- and she'll love you, for being my friend. She'll know what to do."

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I turned my head. My eyes had filled with water. "You got it?" I said at last. "You swear?"

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He said he did. "Show me your hand," I said then; and when I saw how it shook, I dared not let him try and slip me the blank and file, for fear he would drop them. He kept them in his pocket, and I hooked them out just before I left him -- while Nurse Spiller looked on, laughing to see him kiss my cheek and blush. The file went up my sleeve. The blank I held on to -- then, as I went upstairs, I stooped as if to tug up a stocking, and let it fall into one of my boots.

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Then I lay on my bed. I thought of all the burglars I had ever heard of, and all the burglars' boasts. I was like them, now. I had my file, I had my blank. I had my pal on the other side of the madhouse wall. Now all I must do was get hold of a key, long enough to make my copy.

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I did it like this.

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That night, when Nurse Bacon sat in her chair and flexed her fingers, I said, "Let me rub your hands for you tonight, Nurse Bacon, instead of Betty. Betty doesn't like it. She says the grease makes her smell like a chop."

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"I never!" said Betty. "I never!"

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"Fetch 'em out," she said to me.

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Betty's mouth fell open. "Oh! Oh!" she cried.

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"God help us," said Nurse Bacon. "As if this heat weren't enough. Be quiet, Betty! -- Like a chop, did you say? And after all my kindness?"

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She meant her keys. I hesitated, then put in my hand and drew them up. They were warm from the heat of her leg. She watched me do it.

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"She did," I said. "Like a chop, done up for the pan. You let me do it instead. Look how neat and soft my hands are."

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Nurse Bacon looked, not at my fingers, but at my face. Then she screwed up her eyes. "Betty, shut up!" she said. "What a row, and my flesh blazing. I'm sure I don't care who does it; but I'd rather a quiet girl than a noisy one. Here." She put the tip of her thumb to the edge of the pocket in her skirt and pulled it back.

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"That littlest one," she said. I held it and let the others swing, then went to the cupboard and got out the jar of grease. Betty lay on her stomach and kicked up her heels, weeping into her pillow. Nurse Bacon sat back and put up her cuffs. I sat beside her and worked the ointment in, all about her swollen hands, just as I had seen it done a hundred times. I rubbed for half an hour. Now and then she winced. Then her eyes half closed and she gazed at me from beneath the lids. She gazed in a warm and thoughtful way, and almost smiled.

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When at last she yawned and drew her hands away, and stretched, my heart gave a thump; but she did not see it. I moved from her side, to take the ointment back to its cupboard. My heart thumped again. I had only a second to do what I needed to do.

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"Not so bad, is it?" she murmured. "Eh?"

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I didn't answer. I was thinking, not of her, but of the night and the work to come. If my colour was up, she must have taken it for a blush. If I seemed strange, and conscious of myself, what was that to her? We were all strange, there.

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I caught the key up and quickly but very carefully pressed it into the jar. The grease took the shape of the bitting, good as anything. I looked at it once, then screwed on the lid and set the jar back on its shelf. The cupboard door I closed, but only pretended to lock. The key I wiped on my sleeve. I took it back to Nurse Bacon, and she opened up her pocket with the tip of her thumb, like before.

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The loop of keys was hanging from the lock, the one I wanted -- the one to the doors -- hanging lowest. I did not plan to steal it, she would have noticed if I had. But men came all the time to Lant Street, with bits of soap, and putty, and wax…

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I would not meet her eye. I went to my bed, and she yawned, and sat in her chair and dozed, as she always did, until Nurse Spiller brought round our draughts. I had got used to taking mine, along with the other ladies, but tonight I tipped it away -- into the mattress, this time -- then gave back my empty bowl.

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Then I watched, in a sort of fever, to see what Nurse Bacon would do next. If she had gone to the cupboard -- say, for a paper, or a cake, or a piece of knitting, or any small thing; if she had gone to the cupboard and found it open, and locked it, and spoiled my plan, I can't say what I would have done.

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"Right in," she said, as I made to put in the keys. "All the way to the bottom. That's right."

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I really think I might have killed her. But anyway, she did not go. She only sat sleeping in her chair. She slept so long, I began to despair of her ever waking up again: I coughed; picked up my boot and dropped it; ground the legs of my bed against the floor -- and still she slept on.

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Then some dream woke her. She got up, and put her nightgown on. I had my fingers across my face, and saw her do it, through the cracks: I saw her stand, rubbing her stomach through the cotton of her gown; and I saw her looking at all the ladies and then at me, seeming to turn some idea over in her mind…

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But then, she gave the idea up. Perhaps it was the heat. She yawned again, put the chain of keys around her neck, got into her bed; and started snoring.

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It was terrible work to be doing in a desperate mood. I seemed to feel the night slipping away, like so much sand -- or else, Nurse Bacon would fall silent, I would pause and look about me and be brought back to myself -- to the beds, and the sleeping ladies -- and the room would seem so still I feared that time had stopped and I should be caught in it forever. No-one called out that night, no-one had awful dreams, no bells were rung, everyone lay heavy in their beds. I was the only wakeful soul in the house -- the only wakeful soul, I might as well have been, in all the world; except, that I knew that Charles was also wakeful -- was waiting, on the other side of Dr Christie's walls -- was waiting for me; and that, beyond him, Mrs Sucksby was also waiting -- perhaps, was sighing in her bed -- or walking, wringing her hands and calling out my name… It must have been the thought of that, that gave me courage and made the file run true.

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I counted her snores. When I had counted twenty I rose, like a ghost, crept back to the cupboard, and got out the jar of grease.

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Then I cut my copy. I can't say how long it took. I only know, it took hours -- for of course, though the file was a fine one, and though I worked with the sheets and blankets bunched about my hands to muffle the sound, still the rasp of the iron seemed loud, and I dared only cut in time to Nurse Bacon's snores. And I could not file too quickly even then, for I had always to be matching up the blank with the impression, making sure the cuts were right; then again, my fingers would ache, I would have to stop and flex them; or they'd grow wet, the blank would slip and swivel in my hands.

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I watched her another minute, then went to the door. Slowly, slowly, I put the key in the lock. Slowly, slowly, I turned it. "Please God," I whispered, as it moved. "Dear God, I swear, I'll be good, I'll be honest the rest of my days, I swear -- " It caught, and stuck. "Fuck! Fuck!" I said. The wards had jammed, I had not cut true after all: now it would not turn, either forwards or backwards. " Fuck! You fuckster! Oh!" I gripped it harder, and tried again -- still nothing -- at last I let it go. I went silently back to my bed, got Nurse Bacon's ointment jar, stole back with it to the door, put grease across the key-hole and blew it into the lock. Then, almost fainting with fear, I gripped the key again; and this time -- this time, it worked.

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The key was finished. I held it, in a sort of daze. My fingers were stained from the iron, and grazed from the slipping of the file, and almost numb from gripping. I dared not stay to bind them up, though. Very carefully I rose, pulled on my tartan gown, and took up my rubber boots. I also took Nurse Bacon's comb. -- That was all, just that. I lifted it from off her table, and, as I did, she moved her head: I held my breath, but she did not wake. I stood quite still, looking into her face. And I was filled, suddenly, with guilt. I thought, "How disappointed she'll be, when she finds how I've tricked her!" -- I thought of how pleased she had got, when I'd said I would rub her hands.

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For at last there came a time when I put the blank to the jar, and saw that the cuts all matched.

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Queer, the things you think at such times.

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There were three more doors to be got through, after that.

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The key did the same in all of them -- got stuck, and must be greased -- and every time, I shuddered to hear the grinding of the iron in the lock, and went on faster. But no-one woke. The passages were hot and quiet, the stairs and hall quite still. The front door was bolted and latched, I didn't need a key for that.

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I left it open behind me. It was as easy as the time that I had gone from Briar with Maud: only on the walk before the house did I get a fright, for as I made to cross the bit of gravel there, I heard a step, and then a voice. The voice called, softly, "Hey!" -- I heard it, and almost died. I thought it was calling me. Then there came a woman's laugh, and I saw figures: two men -- Mr Bates, I think, and another; and a nurse -- Nurse Flew, with the swivel-eye. "You'll get your -- " one of them said; but that was all I heard. They went through bushes, at the side of the house. Nurse Flew laughed again. Then the laugh got stifled, and there came silence. I did not wait to see what the silence would become. I ran -- lightly, at first, across the strip of gravel -- then fast and hard, across the lawn. I didn't look back at the house. I didn't think about the ladies, still inside it. I should like to say I went and threw my key into the little walled garden, for one of them to find; but I did not. I didn't save anyone but myself. I was too afraid.

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I found the tallest tree: it took me another half-hour, then, to get myself up the knots in its trunk -- to fall, to try again -- to fall a second time, a third, a fourth -- to heave myself finally on to its lowest branch -- to climb from there to the branch above -- to work my way across a creaking bough until I reached the wall… God knows how I did it. I can only say, I did.

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"Charles! Charles!" I called, from the top of the bricks. There was no answer. But I did not wait. I jumped. I hit the ground and heard a yelp. It was him. He had waited so long, he had fallen asleep; and I almost struck him.

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"Come on!" I said. I caught his arm. We turned our backs to the wall, and ran and ran.

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The yelp made a dog bark, back at the house. That dog set off another. Charles put his hand before his mouth.

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We ran through grass and hedges. The night was still dark, the paths all hidden, and I was too afraid, at first, to take the time to find them out. Every now and then Charles would stumble, or slow his step to press his hand to his side and find his breath, and then I'd tilt my head and listen; but there was nothing to hear but birds, and breezes, and mice. Soon the sky grew lighter, and we made out the pale strip of a road. "Which way?" said Charles. I did not know. It had been months and months since I had stood on any kind of path and had to choose the way to take. I looked about me, and the land and the lightening sky seemed suddenly vast and fearful. Then I saw Charles looking, and waiting. I thought of London. "This way," I said, beginning to walk; and the fear passed from me.

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When the sky grew even paler, we began to hear horses and wheels. We should have been glad of a lift, but I was afraid, each time, that the cart or coach might have been sent out after us, from the madhouse. Only when we saw an old farmer driving out of a gate in a donkey-cart, did I think we could be sure he was not one of Dr Christie's men: we put ourselves in his way, and he slowed the donkey and let us ride beside him for an hour. I had combed out the plaits and stitches from my hair and it stood up like coir, and I had no hat, so put a handkerchief of Charles's about my head. I said that we were brother and sister, and going back to London after a stay with our aunty.

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It was like that, then, all the way: every time we met the crossing of two or three roads, I would stand for a minute and think hard of London; and just as if I were Dick Whittington, the idea would come to me which road we ought to take.

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"London, eh?" said the farmer. "They say a man can live forty years there and never meet his neighbour. Is that right?"

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"Seven o'clock," I said. I felt suddenly gloomy. I looked at Nurse Bacon's comb. "They'll be waking up now, and finding my empty bed; if they haven't found it already."

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He put us down at the side of the road at the edge of a town, and showed us the way we must take from there. I guessed we had gone about nine or ten miles. We had forty more to do. This was still early morning. We found a baker's shop, and bought bread; but the woman in the shop looked so queerly at my hair and my gown, and my rubber boots, I wished we had given up the bread and gone hungry.

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"Is it?"

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We sat in a church-yard, upon the grass, against two leaning stones. The church bell rang, and we both started.

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"Mr Way will be polishing shoes," said Charles. His lip began to jump.

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That made him feel better. We finished our bread, and then rose and brushed the grass off.

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"Think of Mr Rivers's boots," I said quickly. "I bet they want a polish. London is awfully hard on a gentleman's shoes."

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A man went by with a shovel. He looked at us rather as the woman in the baker's shop had.

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The sun made the air grow warm. There came butterflies, and bees. Now and then I stopped and untied the handkerchief from about my head, and wiped my face. I had never walked so far, so hard, in my life; and for three months I had not been further than round and round the little walled garden at the madhouse. There were blisters on my heels, the size of shillings. I thought, "We shall never get to London!"

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But each time I thought it, I thought of Mrs Sucksby, and imagined the look upon her face when I turned up at the Lant Street door. Then I thought of Maud, wherever she was; and imagined her face.

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"They think we're tinkers," said Charles, as we watched him pass. But I imagined men coming from the madhouse, asking about after a girl in a tartan dress and rubber boots. "Let's go," I said, and we left the road again and took a quiet path that went off across fields. We kept as much as we could to the hedges, though the grass was higher there, and harder and slower to walk on.

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Her face seemed dim to me, however. The dimness bothered me. I said, "Tell me, Charles, what colour are Miss Lilly's eyes? Are they brown, or blue?"

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He looked at me strangely. "I think they are brown, miss."

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"Are you sure?"

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"I think so, miss."

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Near noon that day we came across a row of little cottages, on the side of the path to a village. I made Charles stop, and we stood behind a hedge, and I watched the doors and windows. At one, a girl stood shaking cloths -- though after a minute she went inside, and then the window was closed. At another, a woman with a bucket passed back and forth, not looking out.

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But I was not sure. I walked a little faster. Charles ran beside me, panting.

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"I think so, too."

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The windows of the next cottage down were all shut and dark; but I guessed there must be something behind them, worth stealing: I thought of going to the door and knocking and, if no-one came, trying the latch. But as I stood, working up my nerve, there came voices, from the very last house: we looked, and there at the garden gate was a woman and two little children. The woman was tying on a bonnet and kissing the children good-bye.

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"Now, Janet," she was saying to the biggest one, "mind you watch Baby nicely. I shall be back to give you your egg. You may hem your hankie if you like, if you'll only be careful with the needle."

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I watched her go. Then I looked from her to the little girl -- who had left the gate now, and was walking back up the path, leading her brother towards the open cottage door. Then I looked at Charles. I said, "Charles, here's Fate turned our way at last. Give me a sixpence, will you?"

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"Never mind. Stay here. And if anyone comes, give a whistle."

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He felt about in his pocket. "Not that one. Haven't you got a brighter?"

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"What are you going to do, miss?" he asked.

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I took the brightest he had, and gave it an extra shine on the sleeve of my gown.

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I stood and straightened my skirt; then I went out from behind the hedge and walked smartly over to the gate of the cottage, as if I had come along the path. The little girl turned her head and saw me.

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"All right?" I said. "You'll be Janet. I just met your ma. Look here, what she gave me. A sixpence. Ain't it a nice one? She said, "Please give this sixpence to my little girl Janet, and tell her to please go quick to the shop and buy flour." Said she forgot, just now. Know what flour is, don't you? Good girl. Know what else your ma said? She said, "My girl Janet is such a good little girl, tell her she's to have the half-penny left over, for sweets." Ah. Like sweets, do you? So do I. Nice, ain't they? But hard on your teeth. Never mind. I dare say you ain't got all your teeth yet. Oh! Look at them dazzlers! Like pearls on a string! Better nip down the shop, before the rest come up. I'll stay here and mind the house, shall I? Don't that sixpence shine! And here's your little brother, look. Don't you want to take him with you? Good girl…"

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"Yes, Ma," said the girl. She put her face up to be kissed, then stood on the gate and swung it. Her mother walked quickly away from the cottage -- past me and Charles, though she didn't know it; for we were still hidden behind our hedge.

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"Turn round," I said, as I changed. Turn round! Don't look so frightened, you bloody big girl. Damn her! Damn her!"

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It was a pretty poor place, but in a trunk upstairs I found a pair of black shoes, more or less my size, and a print dress, put in paper. I thought the dress might have been the one that the woman was married in, and I swear to God! I almost didn't take it; but in the end, I did.

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All the time I spoke, I was glancing quickly about me, at the windows of the other cottages, and along the path; but no-one came. The little girl put the coin in the pocket of her apron and picked up her baby brother, and staggered away; and I watched her do it, then darted into the house.

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Then I ran back to the hedge where Charles was hiding.

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It was the shabbiest trick there was, and I hated doing it; but what can I say? I had had a shabby trick played on me.

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And I also took a black straw bonnet, a shawl, a pair of woollen stockings, a pie from the pantry; and a knife.

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I meant Maud. I was thinking of the little girl, Janet, coming back to the cottage with the flour and her bag of sweets, I was thinking of her mother, coming home in time for tea, and finding her wedding-gown gone.

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But that was just the thing, I supposed, for the country. We left the fields and the shady paths and went back to the road; and after a time another old farmer came by, and he drove us another few miles; and then we walked again.

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"Don't look at me, you infant!" I said. "Oh! Oh!"

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"Damn her!" I got hold of Maud's glove, and ripped it till the stitches gave. Then I threw it to the ground and jumped on it. Charles watched, with a look of terror on his face.

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But then I grew frightened of someone coming. I took the glove up again and put it back next to my bosom, and tied up the strings of the bonnet. I threw my madhouse gown and my rubber boots into a ditch. The blisters on my feet had opened, and were weeping like eyes; but the stockings were thick ones, and the black shoes were worn and soft. The dress had a pattern of roses on it, and the bonnet had daisies at the brim. I imagined how I must look -- like a picture, I thought, of a milkmaid on a dairy wall.

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We still walked hard. Charles was silent all the way. Finally he broke out with: "You took them shoes and that gown, without asking."

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"I took this pie as well," I said. "Bet you'll eat it, though."

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We spent the night in the hay of an open barn, and he lay with his back to me, his shoulder-blades shaking. I wondered if he might run off to Briar while I slept; and I waited until he grew quiet, then tied the laces of one his boots to the laces of one of mine, so I should wake up if he tried to. He was an aggravating boy; but I knew I should do better with him than without him, just now -- for Dr Christie's men would be looking for a girl on her own, not a girl and her brother. I thought that if I had to, I would give him the slip once we reached London.

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I said we would send the woman her clothes back, and buy her a brand-new pie, in London. Charles looked doubtful.

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But London still seemed far off. The air still smelled too pure. Some time in the night I woke, and the barn was full of cows: they stood in a circle and looked us over, and one of them coughed like a man. Don't tell me that's natural. I woke up Charles, and he was as frightened as I was. He got up and tried to run -- of course, he fell down, and nearly took my foot off. I undid our laces. We went backwards out of the barn, then ran, then walked. We saw the sun rise over a hill.

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The night had been cold as winter, but the hill was a steep one and we grew warm as we climbed. When we got to the top, the sun was higher in the sky and the day was lightening up. I thought, The morning has broken. -- I thought of the morning like an egg, that had split with a crack and was spreading.

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"That means east," said Charles.

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Before us lay all the green country of England, with its rivers and its roads and its hedges, its churches, its chimneys, its rising threads of smoke. The chimneys grew taller, the roads and rivers wider, the threads of smoke more thick, the farther off the country spread; until at last, at the farthest point of all, they made a smudge, a stain, a darkness -- a darkness, like the darkness of the coal in a fire -- a darkness that was broken, here and there, where the sun caught panes of glass and the golden tips of domes and steeples, with glittering points of light.

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"London," I said. "Oh, London!"

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