Then, going to the bed, I bent over my sister, and asked her how she
felt; but she only shook the more, and, much as it pained me, I had to
admit that my presence seemed to make her worse.

And so, I left her--locking the door, and pocketing the key. It seemed
to be the only course to take.

The rest of the day, I spent between the tower and my study. For food,
I brought up a loaf from the pantry, and on this, and some claret, I
lived for that day.

What a long, weary day it was. If only I could have gone out into the
gardens, as is my wont, I should have been content enough; but to be
cooped in this silent house, with no companion, save a mad woman and a
sick dog, was enough to prey upon the nerves of the hardiest. And out in
the tangled shrubberies that surrounded the house, lurked--for all I
could tell--those infernal Swine-creatures waiting their chance. Was
ever a man in such straits?

Once, in the afternoon, and again, later, I went to visit my sister.
The second time, I found her tending Pepper; but, at my approach, she
slid over, unobtrusively, to the far corner, with a gesture that
saddened me beyond belief. Poor girl! her fear cut me intolerably, and I
would not intrude on her, unnecessarily. She would be better, I trusted,
in a few days; meanwhile, I could do nothing; and I judged it still
needful--hard as it seemed--to keep her confined to her room. One thing
there was that I took for encouragement: she had eaten some of the food
I had taken to her, on my first visit.

And so the day passed.