Supported by the farmer’s wife, Catherine was guided up the stairs to a cool and quiet room, where she dropped upon the bed. No sooner had her head touched the pillow, than the room, the white-washed wall, blue window-curtains, the evergreens on the whitened fire-place, the picture of the annunciation over the mantle-piece—all reeled around her senses as a vision, and wheeled off, carrying with them the outside world and all consciousness of being.
To her, existence was blotted out for two hours.
“Wake up, lady: wake up! your breakfast is ready, and so is your horse!”
Catherine started up at the voice of her landlady, and gazed around, bewildered. Then memory flashed upon her, and she sprung to her feet, and began hastily and nervously to fasten her habit.
“Here is water, lady, and napkins—and is there anything else I can bring you?”
“No, thank you, you are very good.”
“How do you find yourself?”
“Better—I think. How long have I slept?”
“Just two hours. I wished to let you lie longer, but my dear old fellow insisted on keeping his word with you.”
“I’m glad he did. It was very needful. But you are kind, and I thank you.”