upon me--my imagination had been over-excited by the evil dream
which I had experienced, and a feeling of oppression was crushing
my heart.... I leapt from the chair, and involuntarily uttered a
cry--a cry wrung from me by the terrible, torturing sensation
that was upon me. Presently the door opened, and Pokrovski
entered.

I remember that I was in his arms when I recovered my senses.
Carefully seating me on a bench, he handed me a glass of water,
and then asked me a few questions--though how I answered them I
do not know. "You yourself are ill," he said as he took my hand.
"You yourself are VERY ill. You are feverish, and I can see that
you are knocking yourself out through your neglect of your own
health. Take a little rest. Lie down and go to sleep. Yes, lie
down, lie down," he continued without giving me time to protest.
Indeed, fatigue had so exhausted my strength that my eyes were
closing from very weakness. So I lay down on the bench with the
intention of sleeping for half an hour only; but, I slept till
morning. Pokrovski then awoke me, saying that it was time for me
to go and give my mother her medicine.

When the next evening, about eight o'clock, I had rested a little
and was preparing to spend the night in a chair beside my mother
(fixedly meaning not to go to sleep this time), Pokrovski
suddenly knocked at the door. I opened it, and he informed me
that, since, possibly, I might find the time wearisome, he had
brought me a few books to read. I accepted the books, but do not,
even now, know what books they were, nor whether I looked into
them, despite the fact that I never closed my eyes the whole
night long. The truth was that a strange feeling of excitement