The very shadows on the walls thrown
up wildly by the expiring firelight were objects of grotesque
terror. Never--never--in her whole youth of strange vicissitude, had
the nerves of this brave girl been so tremendously shaken and
prostrated.
It was late in the morning when at last nature succumbed, and she
sank into a deep sleep. She had not slept long when she was aroused
from a profound state of insensibility by a loud, impatient knocking
at her door.
She started up wildly and gazed around her. For a minute she could
not remember what were the circumstances under which she had laid
down, or what was that vague feeling of horror and alarm that
possessed her. Then the yawning trapdoor, the remnants of the
supper, and Black Donald's coat, hat and boots upon the floor, drove
in upon her reeling brain the memory of the night of terror!
The knocking continued more loudly and impatiently, accompanied by
the voice of Mrs. Condiment, crying:
"Miss Capitola--Miss Capitola--why, what can be the matter with her?
Miss Capitola!"
"Eh? What? Yes!" answered Capitola, pressing her hands to her
feverish forehead, and putting back her dishevelled hair.
"Why, how soundly you sleep, my dear! I've been calling and rapping
here for a quarter of an hour! Good gracious, child what made you
oversleep yourself so? "
"I--did not get to bed till very late," said Capitola, confusedly.
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