I was exhausted with fatigue and anxiety; whatever art could do I had
tried.

I told Sperver to sit up, and close his master's eyes in death. The poor
faithful fellow was in the utmost distress; he reproached himself with
his involuntary cry--"Count of Nideck--what are you doing?" and tore his
hair in bitter repentance.

I went away alone to Hugh Lupus's tower, having had scarcely any time to
take food, but I did not feel the want of it.

There was a bright fire on the hearth; I threw myself dressed upon the
bed, and sleep soon came to relieve my weight of apprehension--that heavy
sleep broken by the consciousness that you may any minute be awoke by
tears and lamentations.

I was sleeping thus, with my face turned towards the fire, and as it
often happens, the flame fitfully rising, and falling threw a fluttering,
flickering light like those of ruddy flapping wings against the walls,
and wearied still more my dropping eyelids.

Lost in a dreamy slumber, I was half opening my eyes to see the cause of
these alternate lights and shadows, but the strangest sight surprised me.

Close by the hearth, hardly revealed by the feeble light of a few dying
embers, I recognised with dismay the dark profile of the Black Plague!

She sat upon a low stool, and was evidently warming herself.