And Elfie, to occupy her mind and keep herself awake, commenced quoting poetry; another imprudent act, for however appropriate were the lines to the time and scene, they were ill chosen for the occasion, because they made her the more nervous, though not the less sleepy. The lines she quoted were these:
“’Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion on the world.”
And so on to the end.
Before Elfie got to the end she had dropped asleep again, and she slept on until she was once more aroused by the silvery striking of the clock. It chimed “one,” and she sprang up with a guilty pang.
“Goodness! I had nearly been asleep again. One o’clock! well, the time does pass. Only one hour more of this dreadful watch. I must try to keep awake somehow. It will never do to let Britomarte catch me, a sentinel, sleeping on my post. She is used to military discipline, and might take it into her head that I ought to be shot. And indeed I think she would be right. What a brute I am, even to feel like going to sleep beside this dying angel!” exclaimed Elfie, rising and looking over her charge.
“No change—oh, no change, my poor, sweet martyr,” she said, as she kissed the pale brow and then resumed her seat.
“Yes, I must keep awake somehow. Let me try more poetry, though nothing but the horrible recurs to my memory to-night,” said Elfie, yawning.
“Now o’er the one-half world