The ladies accordingly found the youthful sailor whom they sought, with
his body rolled in the shaggy covering, extended at his length along the
naked boards, and buried in a deep sleep. So timid were the steps of his
visitors, and so noiseless was their entrance, that they approached even
to his side without disturbing his slumbers. The head of the prisoner
lay rudely pillowed on a billet of wood, one hand protecting his face
from its rough surface, and the other thrust in his bosom, where it
rested, with a relaxed grasp, on the handle of a dirk. Although he
slept, and that heavily, yet his rest was unnatural and perturbed. His
breathing was hard and quick, and something like the low, rapid
murmurings of a confused utterance mingled with his respiration. The
moment had now arrived when the character of Cecilia Howard appeared to
undergo an entire change. Hitherto she had been led by her cousin, whose
activity and enterprise seemed to qualify her so well for the office of
guide; but now she advanced before Katherine, and, extending her lamp in
such a manner as to throw the light across the face of the sleeper, she
bent to examine his countenance, with keen and anxious eyes.
"Am I right?" whispered her cousin.
"May God, in His infinite compassion, pity and protect him!" murmured
Cecilia, her whole frame involuntarily shuddering, as the conviction
that she beheld Griffith flashed across her mind. "Yes, Katherine, it is
he, and presumptuous madness has driven him here.
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