In the beginning I was fearful that she might do some
violence to herself or her servants, but her insanity began to
assume a less excitable form; and at last she sank into a condition
of torpor, both of mind and body, from which I saw little prospect
of her ever rising.
"It is well," I said to myself. "Life had better wane slowly away
than to go out in lurid gleams like the flashes of a dying volcano."
CHAPTER V.
And now, reader, after this long digression, you can understand my
surprise at seeing broad gleams of light reaching out into the
darkness from the windows of that north-west chamber, as I breasted
the storm on my way to visit the sick child of Mary Jones. No wonder
that I stood still and looked up at those windows, though the rain
beat into my face, half blinding me. The shutters were thrown open,
and the curtains drawn partly aside. I plainly saw shadows on the
ceiling and walls as of persons moving about the room. Did my eyes
deceive me? Was not that the figure of a young girl that stood for a
moment at the window trying to pierce with her eyes the thick veil
of night? I was still in doubt when the figure turned away, and only
gave me a shadow on the wall.
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