The recollection of about three days and nights succeeding this is

very dim in my mind. I can recall some sensations felt in that

interval; but few thoughts framed, and no actions performed. I knew

I was in a small room and in a narrow bed. To that bed I seemed to

have grown; I lay on it motionless as a stone; and to have torn me

from it would have been almost to kill me. I took no note of the

lapse of time--of the change from morning to noon, from noon to

evening. I observed when any one entered or left the apartment: I

could even tell who they were; I could understand what was said when

the speaker stood near to me; but I could not answer; to open my

lips or move my limbs was equally impossible. Hannah, the servant,

was my most frequent visitor. Her coming disturbed me. I had a

feeling that she wished me away: that she did not understand me or

my circumstances; that she was prejudiced against me. Diana and

Mary appeared in the chamber once or twice a day. They would

whisper sentences of this sort at my bedside "It is very well we took her in."

"Yes; she would certainly have been found dead at the door in the

morning had she been left out all night. I wonder what she has gone

through?"

"Strange hardships, I imagine--poor, emaciated, pallid wanderer?"

"She is not an uneducated person, I should think, by her manner of

speaking; her accent was quite pure; and the clothes she took off,

though splashed and wet, were little worn and fine."

"She has a peculiar face; fleshless and haggard as it is, I rather

like it; and when in good health and animated, I can fancy her

physiognomy would be agreeable."

Never once in their dialogues did I hear a syllable of regret at the

hospitality they had extended to me, or of suspicion of, or aversion

to, myself. I was comforted.

Mr. St. John came but once: he looked at me, and said my state of

lethargy was the result of reaction from excessive and protracted

fatigue. He pronounced it needless to send for a doctor: nature,

he was sure, would manage best, left to herself. He said every

nerve had been overstrained in some way, and the whole system must

sleep torpid a while. There was no disease. He imagined my

recovery would be rapid enough when once commenced. These opinions

he delivered in a few words, in a quiet, low voice; and added, after

a pause, in the tone of a man little accustomed to expansive

comment, "Rather an unusual physiognomy; certainly, not indicative

of vulgarity or degradation."




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