After a
long pause of returning recollection, the poor creature, got down a little
of the cordial and as I sat by him and supported him, I began to hope that
his spirits calmed. He held the glass and sipped occasionally, and
appeared in some sort to listen, and to answer to the words of consolation
I felt collected enough to offer. At this moment the low and distant sound
of a clock was heard, distinctly striking one. The ear of despair is
quick;--and as he heard it, he shuddered, and in spite of a strong effort
to suppress his emotion, the glass had nearly fallen from his hand. A severe
nervous restlessness now rapidly grew upon him, and he eagerly drank up
one or two small portions of wine, with which I supplied him. His fate was
now evidently brought one degree nearer to him. He kept his gaze intently
and unceasingly turned to the window of the dungeon. His muttered replies
were incoherent, or unintelligible, and his sunk and weakened eye strained
painfully on the grated window, as if he momentarily expected to see the
first streak of the dawn of that morning, which to him was to be night.
His nervous agitation gradually became horrible, and his motions stronger.
He seemed not to have resolution enough to rise from his seat and go to
the window, and yet to have an over-powering wish or impulse to do so.
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