.

AN EVENING WITH CAPTAIN BULSTED.
A dream that my father lay like a wax figure in a bed gave me thoughts of dying.

I was ill and did not know it, and imagined that my despair at the foot of the stairs of ever reaching my room to lie down peacefully was the sign of death.

My aunt Dorothy nursed me for a week: none but she and my dogs entered the room.

I had only two faint wishes left in me: one that the squire should be kept out of my sight, the other that she would speak to me of my mother's love for my father.