Would they be forgiven in the morning, or turned adrift again! Oh!
why had they stopped in that strange place? It would have been
better, under any circumstances, to have gone on!
At last, sleep gradually stole upon her--a broken, fitful sleep,
troubled by dreams of falling from high towers, and waking with a
start and in great terror. A deeper slumber followed this--and
then--What! That figure in the room.
A figure was there. Yes, she had drawn up the blind to admit the
light when it should be dawn, and there, between the foot of the
bed and the dark casement, it crouched and slunk along, groping its
way with noiseless hands, and stealing round the bed. She had no
voice to cry for help, no power to move, but lay still, watching
it.
On it came--on, silently and stealthily, to the bed's head. The
breath so near her pillow, that she shrunk back into it, lest those
wandering hands should light upon her face. Back again it stole to
the window--then turned its head towards her.
The dark form was a mere blot upon the lighter darkness of the
room, but she saw the turning of the head, and felt and knew how
the eyes looked and the ears listened.
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