The new tenant of The Trellis House had her lonely dinner brought in to
her on a tray, and then, perhaps rather too soon--for she was not much of
a reader, and there was nothing to while away the time--she went upstairs
to her pleasant, cosy bedroom, and so to bed.
But, try as she might, she found it impossible to fall asleep; for what
seemed to her hours she lay wide awake, tossing this way and that. At
last she got up, and, drawing aside the chintz curtain across one of the
windows, she looked out. The window was open, and in the eerily bright
moonlight the upper part of the hill on which Beechfield village lay
seemed spread before her. There were twinkling lights in many of the
windows--doubtless groups of happy, cheerful people behind them. She
felt horribly lonely and depressed as well as wide awake to-night.
In her short, healthy life, Enid Crofton had only had one attack of
insomnia. During the ten days that had followed her husband's sudden
death--for the inquest had had to be put off for a day or two--she
had hardly slept at all, and the doctor who had been so kind a friend
during that awful time, had had to give her a strong narcotic. To his
astonishment it had had no effect.
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