So of course I said no more on that score， and we went tosleep before long. He thought I was asleep first， but I wasn’t， andlay there for hours trying to decide whether that front patternand the back pattern really did move together or separately.
On a pattern like this， by daylight， there is a lack of sequence， adefiance of law， that is a constant irritant to a normal mind.
The color is hideous enough， and unreliable enough， andinfuriating enough， but the pattern is torturing.
You think you have mastered it， but just as you get wellunderway in following， it turns a back-somersault and thereyou are. It slaps you in the face， knocks you down， andtramples upon you. It is like a bad dream.
The outside pattern is a florid arabesque， reminding oneof a fungus. If you can imagine a toadstool in joints， aninterminable string of toadstools， budding and sprouting inendless convolutions—why， that is something like it.
That is， sometimes！
There is one marked peculiarity about this paper， a thingnobody seems to notice but myself， and that is that it changesas the light changes.
When the sun shoots in through the east window—I alwayswatch for that first long， straight ray—it changes so quicklythat I never can quite believe it.
That is why I watch it always.
By moonlight—the moon shines in all night when there is amoon—I wouldn’t know it was the same paper.
At night in any kind of light， in twilight， candle light，lamplight， and worst of all by moonlight， it becomes bars！ Theoutside pattern I mean， and the woman behind it is as plain ascan be.
I didn’t realize for a long time what the thing was thatshowed behind， that dim sub-pattern， but now I am quite sureit is a woman.
By daylight she is subdued， quiet. I fancy it is the patternthat keeps her so still. It is so puzzling. It keeps me quiet bythe hour.
I lie down ever so much now. John says it is good for me，and to sleep all I can.
Indeed he started the habit by making me lie down for anhour after each meal.
It is a very bad habit I am convinced， for you see I don’tsleep.
And that cultivates deceit， for I don’t tell them I’m awake—Ono！
The fact is I am getting a little afraid of John.
He seems very queer sometimes， and even Jennie has aninexplicable look.
It strikes me occasionally， just as a scientific hypothesis，—that perhaps it is the paper！
I have watched John when he did not know I was looking，and come into the room suddenly on the most innocentexcuses， and I’ve caught him several times LOOKING ATTHE PAPER！ And Jennie too. I caught Jennie with her handon it once.
She didn’t know I was in the room， and when I asked her ina quiet， a very quiet voice， with the most restrained mannerpossible， what she was doing with the paper—she turnedaround as if she had been caught stealing， and looked quiteangry—asked me why I should frighten her so！
Then she said that the paper stained everything it touched，that she had found yellow smooches on all my clothes andJohn’s， and she wished we would be more careful！
Did not that sound innocent？ But I know she was studyingthat pattern， and I am determined that nobody shall find it outbut myself！
Life is very much more exciting now than it used to be. Yousee I have something more to expect， to look forward to， towatch. I really do eat better， and am more quiet than I was.
John is so pleased to see me improve！ He laughed a little theother day， and said I seemed to be flourishing in spite of mywall-paper.
I turned it off with a laugh. I had no intention of telling himit was BECAUSE of the wall-paper—he would make fun ofme. He might even want to take me away.
I don’t want to leave now until I have found it out. There is aweek more， and I think that will be enough.
I’m feeling ever so much better！ I don’t sleep much at night，for it is so interesting to watch developments； but I sleep agood deal in the daytime.
In the daytime it is tiresome and perplexing.
There are always new shoots on the fungus， and new shadesof yellow all over it. I cannot keep count of them， though Ihave tried conscientiously.
It is the strangest yellow， that wall-paper！ It makes me thinkof all the yellow things I ever saw—not beautiful ones likebuttercups， but old foul， bad yellow things.
But there is something else about that paper—the smell！
I noticed it the moment we came into the room， but with somuch air and sun it was not bad. Now we have had a week offog and rain， and whether the windows are open or not， thesmell is here.
It creeps all over the house.
I find it hovering in the dining-room， skulking in the parlor，hiding in the hall， lying in wait for me on the stairs.
It gets into my hair.
Even when I go to ride， if I turn my head suddenly andsurprise it—there is that smell！
Such a peculiar odor， too！ I have spent hours in trying toanalyze it， to find what it smelled like.
It is not bad—at first， and very gentle， but quite the subtlest，most enduring odor I ever met.
In this damp weather it is awful， I wake up in the night andfind it hanging over me.
It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously of burningthe house—to reach the smell.
But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think of that itis like is the COLOR of the paper！ A yellow smell.
There is a very funny mark on this wall， low down， near themopboard. A streak that runs round the room. It goes behindevery piece of furniture， except the bed， a long， straight， evenSMOOCH， as if it had been rubbed over and over.
I wonder how it was done and who did it， and what theydid it for. Round and round and round—round and round andround—it makes me dizzy！
I really have discovered something at last.
Through watching so much at night， when it changes so， Ihave finally found out.
The front pattern DOES move—and no wonder！ The womanbehind shakes it！
Sometimes I think there are a great many women behind，and sometimes only one， and she crawls around fast， and hercrawling shakes it all over.
Then in the very bright spots she keeps still， and in the veryshady spots she just takes hold of the bars and shakes themhard.