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.