Total darkness outside!... Not a ray of light coming through the grated window. Not one last trace of twilight on the mountain trail....
The canvas tightened, and closed my eyes. There on the heath a shroud of canvas! There in my room a shroud of slumber! Sleep! Another death!...
XXXV
Dawn again.... I cannot see the new morning light; but I am conscious of its approach. The grated window is still dark; but I am sure the night is ending. Through the thick panes of glass, I feel a chill, the harbinger of day.
The three candles have burned low on the tips of the three lances. Their wicks have curled in upon themselves, sinking into the last drops of molten wax. Only a faint uncertain flame is sputtering from them now and that bit of light threatens to go out at intervals.
* * * * * * * * *
Sleep seems to have done me good, giving me back some strength, however little.
“Could I sit up now, if I tried?”