If any sign of excitement or mental
unrest manifested itself, the sleeping-draught contained in a small
bottle on the mantelpiece was to be administered at once, or the
consequences would be fatal. But Thomas Oscard refused to take it.
He seemed determined to kill himself. The son stood over him and
tried threats, persuasion, prayers; and all the while there was in
his heart the knowledge that, unless his father could be made to
sleep, the reputed three thousand a year would be his before the
morning.
It was worse than the actual physical struggle on the floor. The
temptation was almost too strong.
After a while the sick man became quieter, but he still refused to
take the opiate. He closed his eyes and made no answer to Guy's
repeated supplication. Finally he ceased shaking his head in
negation, and at last breathed regularly like a child asleep.
Afterwards Guy Oscard reproached himself for suspecting nothing.
But he knew nothing of brain diseases--those strange maladies that
kill the human in the human being. He knew, however, why his father
had tried to kill himself. It was not the first time. It was
panic. He was afraid of going mad, of dying mad like his father
before him. People called him eccentric. Some said that he was
mad. But it was not so. It was only fear of madness.
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