I woke in a terror, and cried out so loudly that Duncan came running
into my room to see what was the matter.
'Nothing, Duncan,' I said, 'I was only dreaming; I thought I had gone
over a precipice.'
'No, thank God, you're all safe, sir,' he said. 'Shall I open your
window a bit? Maybe the room's close; is it?'
'Thank you, Duncan,' I answered; 'I shall be all right now. I'm so sorry
I have waked you.'
'You haven't done that, sir; me and Polly have been up all night with
the little lad. He's sort of funny, too, sir, burning hot, and yet he
shivers like, and he clings to his daddy; so I've been walking a mile or
two with him up and down our chamber floor, and I heard you skriking
out, and says Polly, "Run and see what ails him." So you haven't
disturbed me, sir, not one little bit, you haven't.'
He left me then, and I tried to sleep, but sleep seemed far from me. I
could hear Duncan's footsteps pacing up and down in the next room; I
could hear little John's fretful cry; I could hear the rain beating
against the casement; I could hear the soughing and whistling of the
wind; I could hear Polly's old eight-day clock striking the hours and
the half-hours of that long, dismal night; but through it all, and above
it all, I could hear the preacher's question, 'What are the depths, the
fearful depths, to which you are being drawn?'
I found it impossible to close my eyes again, so I drew up the blind,
and, as morning began to dawn, I watched the pitiless rain and longed
for day.
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