Stanley's heavy and unnatural sleep had lasted some hours, when he was
suddenly and painfully awakened by so loud and long a peal of thunder
that the very house seemed to rock and shake with the vibration. He
started up on his couch; but darkness was around him so dense that
he could not distinguish a single object. This sleep had been
unrefreshing, and so heavy an oppression rested on his chest, that he
felt as if confined in a close cage of iron. He waved his arms to feel
if he were indeed at liberty. He moved in free air, but the darkness
seemed to suffocate him; and springing up, he groped his way to the
window, and flung it open. Feverish and restless, the very excitement
of the night seemed to urge him forth, thus to disperse the oppressive
weight within. A flash of lightning playing on the polished sheath of
his sword, he secured it to his side, and threw his mantle over his
shoulders. As he did so his hand came in contact with the upper part
of the sheath, from which the hilt should have projected; but, to his
astonishment and alarm, no hilt was there--the sheath was empty.
In vain he racked his memory to ascertain whether he had left his
sword in its scabbard, or had laid the naked blade, as was his custom,
by him while he slept. The more he tried to think the more confused
his thoughts became.
Pages:
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147