was scorched to cinders. He would then betray marks of
insupportable anxiety.

My uncle perceived, by his pulse, that he was indisposed, but
in no alarming degree, and ascribed appearances chiefly to the
workings of his mind. He exhorted him to recollection and
composure, but in vain. At the hour of repose he readily
retired to his chamber. At the persuasion of my mother he even
undressed and went to bed. Nothing could abate his
restlessness. He checked her tender expostulations with some
sternness. "Be silent," said he, "for that which I feel there
is but one cure, and that will shortly come. You can help me
nothing. Look to your own condition, and pray to God to
strengthen you under the calamities that await you." "What am
I to fear?" she answered. "What terrible disaster is it that
you think of?" "Peace--as yet I know it not myself, but come it
will, and shortly." She repeated her inquiries and doubts; but
he suddenly put an end to the discourse, by a stern command to
be silent.

She had never before known him in this mood. Hitherto all
was benign in his deportment. Her heart was pierced with sorrow
at the contemplation of this change. She was utterly unable to
account for it, or to figure to herself the species of disaster
that was menaced.

Contrary to custom, the lamp, instead of being placed on the
hearth, was left upon the table. Over it against the wall there
hung a small clock, so contrived as to strike a very hard stroke
at the end of every sixth hour. That which was now approaching