Thus, slumbering, dreaming, starting, waking, she passed this weird night, that ever in her after life seemed to her less like the reality than like the phantasmagoria of a hasheesh-conjured vision.
Towards morning, being very much wearied with sitting up, she lay down again, and, as is usual with uneasy sleepers, just at daylight she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER XLV.
DRUSILLA’S ARRIVAL.
What shall she be ere night?—Byron.
She slept profoundly and until she was rudely awakened by a shock of noise and action.
It was now broad day, and it was raining hard. The coach was drawn up before the door of the large, low building, the one hotel in the mountain hamlet. Hostlers and porters were crowding around it.
Drusilla lay quietly in her shadowy recess, resolved not to move until the male passengers had left the stage, which she saw they were preparing to do.
First, Dick Hammond climbed over mammy, who was still fast asleep, and got out. Then the minister and the lawyer, one after the other, surmounted the same obstruction and passed on the same way. And these three gentlemen went into the bar-room.
But mammy slept on.
Drusilla sat up and quickly tightened her own dress and put on her bonnet. And then she tried to wake her attendant, but without success; for mammy did nothing but yawn and talk in her sleep and settle herself to rest again; until the guard came, and, shaking her roughly, shouted in her ears: