caring neither to define nor subdue them, till the longing to meet him
in deadly combat, and the how to do so, became the sole and dangerous
occupation of heart and mind.

Stanley's heavy and unnatural sleep had lasted some hours, when he was
suddenly and painfully awakened by so loud and long a peal of thunder
that the very house seemed to rock and shake with the vibration. He
started up on his couch; but darkness was around him so dense that
he could not distinguish a single object. This sleep had been
unrefreshing, and so heavy an oppression rested on his chest, that he
felt as if confined in a close cage of iron. He waved his arms to feel
if he were indeed at liberty. He moved in free air, but the darkness
seemed to suffocate him; and springing up, he groped his way to the
window, and flung it open. Feverish and restless, the very excitement
of the night seemed to urge him forth, thus to disperse the oppressive
weight within. A flash of lightning playing on the polished sheath of
his sword, he secured it to his side, and threw his mantle over his
shoulders. As he did so his hand came in contact with the upper part
of the sheath, from which the hilt should have projected; but, to his
astonishment and alarm, no hilt was there--the sheath was empty.

In vain he racked his memory to ascertain whether he had left his
sword in its scabbard, or had laid the naked blade, as was his custom,
by him while he slept. The more he tried to think the more confused
his thoughts became. His forehead felt circled with burning iron,
his lips were dry and parched, his step faltering as if under the
influence of some potent spell. He called for a light, but his voice
sounded in his own ears thick and unnatural, and no one answered. His
aged hosts had retired to rest an hour before, and though they had
noticed and drew their own conclusions from his agitated movements,