side, where his heart felt as if it would burst, and it almost did break with compassion, and where he did not cease to pray to God.
And every time when he would be aroused from momentary oblivion by a cry coming from her chamber, he would fall under the same strange delusion as had at the first moment taken possession of him; every time he heard the cry he would spring to his feet, hasten to her room, and on the way remember that he was not to blame, and would long to protect and help. And as he looked on her, he would see that there was no help to be given her; and again the pity would seize him, and he would pray, "Lord, forgive and help us!"
And in proportion as the time passed by, the stronger became the two conditions of mind,—he would be calmer at one moment, perfectly oblivious of her, while remaining out of her presence, and then again the more painful would become his sympathetic torments and the feeling of helplessness before them. He would spring to his feet, feel the impulse to escape somewhere, and hasten to her.
Sometimes when she would keep calling for him he would reproach her; but, seeing her submissive, smiling face, and hearing her words, "I have tired you out," he would reproach God; but, remembering what God was, he would beg for pardon and aid.
CHAPTER XV
He did not know whether it was late or early. The candles had already burned down. Dolly had just come into the library, and was proposing to the doctor to lie down. Levin had been sitting there listening to the doctor's story of the charlatanry of magnetizers, and looking at the ash at the end of his cigarette. It was one of the moments of rest, and he was oblivious. He had entirely forgotten what was taking place. He listened to the doctor, and followed him understandingly.
Suddenly was heard a cry unlike anything he had
