The Cruise of the Midge (Vol. 2 of 2)

BY THE
AUTHOR OF TOM CRINGLE'S LOG.
ON LIFE'S VAST OCEAN DIVERSELY WE SAIL, REASON THE CARD, BUT PASSION IS THE GALE. ESSAY ON MAN
IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH; AND T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON. MDCCCXXXVI.
EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND CO., PAUL'S WORK.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME SECOND.
CHAP.

I must either have been weaker, or the opiate stronger than the doctor expected, for it was near midnight before I awoke. Although still very low and faint, I felt much refreshed and invigorated. For some time I lay enjoying the coolness of the night air, and listening to the chirping of the crickets, in the crevices of the lofty roof. There was not the smallest noise besides to be heard in the house, and every thing without was equally still. At my bedside, on the right hand, there stood a small old-fashioned ebony table, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, with several phials, a bottle of wine, and glasses on it, an open book, the leaves kept down on one side by a most enticing uncut pine-apple, and a large brown wax candle, burning dimly in its tall massive silver candlestick. A chair of the same substance and antique character, and richly carved, was set beside this table, over the high perpendicular back of which hung a seaman's jacket, and a black silk neckerchief, as if the wearer had recently been reading beside me, and very possibly watching me. I listened—all continued silent; and I turned, but still with great pain, towards the open window or balcony that projected into and overhung the neighbouring thoroughfare. The moonlight streamed through the casement, and, with a sensation of ineffable pleasure, I gloated on the bright stars beyond, deep set into the dark blue sky, while the cool night breeze, charged with the odour of the pine-apple, breathed gently, and oh! how passing sweetly, on my feverish temples!
From the pain experienced in moving, I only turned half-round, and therefore lay in a position that prevented my seeing more than the upper part of the large window; but I gradually slewed myself, so as to lie more on my side. Heaven and earth, there he is again! My heart fluttered and beat audibly. My breathing became impeded and irregular, and large drops of ice-cold perspiration burst from my forehead and face; for there , with his head leaning on his hand, his arm resting on the window sill, and motionless as the timber on which he reclined, his beautiful features upturned towards the pale cold moon, and full in the stream of her mild effulgence, sat the apparition of young Henry De Walden! I tried to speak, but my breath failed, and a sudden giddiness came over me. I am gone at last, thought I. I know what his coming twice betokens—Henry, I will soon be with you!