“I don’t quite like her way,” he said to himself. “It was just as if she spoke civilly to me to please her son, and twice over there seemed to be a look in her eyes as if she was jealous of his being so friendly to me. But, phew! how hot it is! I must have some fresh air.”
Then, taking into consideration that he was not at all drowsy, and that it would be impossible to sleep in that torrid atmosphere, he slipped out of bed and softly opened the window, breathed in the comparatively cool air for a few minutes, and then lay down again, meaning to get up after a time and close the window when the atmosphere of his chamber had grown cooler.
The natural consequence occurred. The soft night air stole in, bringing to him a delightful state of calm and restfulness, under whose action the weary, feverish symptoms passed off, and before many minutes had gone by he was sleeping deeply, a sleep full of the keenest enjoyment, though how long he did not know: but conscience interfered and cut the repose short, making him start up guiltily in full consciousness of having done something wrong. Springing off his bed, he went to the window, stood listening for a few minutes, and gazing up at the peaceful sky, before carefully closing and fastening the casement.
“I wonder how long I’ve been asleep,” he said to himself—“not a minute, I’ll be bound;” and, stretching himself out, he sighed, closed his eyes, and went right off again, but only to start up in alarm the next moment, as he thought.
“All right, Dick, lad; don’t be scared.”
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “You shouldn’t do that, Wyatt; it’s startling in the dark, and I might have snatched up a pistol and fired.”
“Yes, you’d better!” said Wyatt, laughing softly. “I should like to catch you at it. Why didn’t you answer, then, when I knocked?”
“Did you knock?”
“Of course—over and over again. You do sleep.”
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you well!”