I had indeed a roof over my head. I should not perish in the public way;
but what was my ground for hoping to continue under this roof? My
sickness being suspected, I should be dragged in a cart to the hospital;
where I should, indeed, die, but not with the consolation of loneliness
and silence. Dying groans were the only music, and livid corpses were
the only spectacle, to which I should there be introduced.

Immured in these dreary meditations, the night passed away. The light
glancing through the window awakened in my bosom a gleam of
cheerfulness. Contrary to my expectations, my feelings were not more
distempered, notwithstanding my want of sleep, than on the last evening.
This was a token that my state was far from being so desperate as I
suspected. It was possible, I thought, that this was the worst
indisposition to which I was liable.

Meanwhile, the coming of Estwick was impatiently expected. The sun
arose, and the morning advanced, but he came not. I remembered that he
talked of having reason to repent his visit to this house. Perhaps he,
likewise, was sick, and this was the cause of his delay. This man's
kindness had even my love. If I had known the way to his dwelling, I
should have hastened thither, to inquire into his condition, and to
perform for him every office that humanity might enjoin; but he had not
afforded me any information on that head.




CHAPTER XVII.