[The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer Complete by Charles James Lever]@TWC D-Link bookThe Confessions of Harry Lorrequer Complete CHAPTER XXV 8/14
There was something in the unrelenting ardour of his pursuit, which suggested to my mind the idea of a most uncompromising foe; and as fear added speed to my steps, I dashed along beneath the low-roofed passage, wondering what chance of escape might yet present itself.
Just at this instant, the hand by which I had guided myself along the wall, touched the handle of a door--I turned it--it opened--I drew in my precious bundle, and closing the door noiselessly, sat down, breathless and still, upon the floor. Scarcely was this, the work of a second, accomplished, when the heavy tread of my pursuer resounded on the floor. "Upon my conscience it's strange if I haven't you now, my friend," said he: "you're in a cul de sac here, as they say, if I know any thing of the house; and faith I'll make a salad of you, when I get you, that's all. Devil a dirtier trick ever I heard tell of." Need I say that these words had the true smack of an Irish accent, which circumstance, from whatever cause, did not by any means tend to assuage my fears in the event of discovery. However, from such a misfortune my good genius now delivered me; for after traversing the passage to the end, he at last discovered another, which led by a long flight to the second story, down which he proceeded, venting at every step his determination for vengeance, and his resolution not to desist from the pursuit, if it took the entire night for it. "Well now," thought I, "as he will scarcely venture up here again, and as I may, by leaving this, be only incurring the risk of encountering him, my best plan is to stay where I am if it be possible." With this intent I proceeded to explore the apartment, which from its perfect stillness, I concluded to be unoccupied.
After some few minutes groping I reached a low bed, fortunately empty, and although the touch of the bed-clothes led to no very favourable augury of its neatness or elegance, there was little choice at this moment, so I rolled myself up in my recent booty, and resolved to wait patiently for day-break to regain my apartment. As always happens in such circumstances, sleep came on me unawares -- so at least every one's experience I am sure can testify, that if you are forced to awake early to start by some morning coach, and that unfortunately you have not got to bed till late at night, the chances are ten to one, that you get no sleep whatever, simply because you are desirous for it; but make up your mind ever so resolutely, that you'll not sleep, and whether your determination be built on motives of propriety, duty, convenience, or health, and the chances are just as strong that you are sound and snoring before ten minutes. How many a man has found it impossible, with every effort of his heart and brain aiding his good wishes, to sit with unclosed eyes and ears through a dull sermon in the dog-days; how many an expectant, longing heir has yielded to the drowsy influence when endeavouring to look contrite under the severe correction of a lecture on extravagance from his uncle.
Who has not felt the irresistible tendency to "drop off" in the half hour before dinner at a stupid country-house? I need not catalogue the thousand other situations in life infinitely more "sleep-compelling" than Morphine; for myself, my pleasantest and soundest moments of perfect forgetfulness of this dreary world and all its cares, have been taken in an oaken bench, seated bolt upright and vis a vis to a lecturer on botany, whose calming accents, united with the softened light of an autumnal day, piercing its difficult rays through the narrow and cobwebbed windows, the odour of the recent plants and flowers aiding and abetting, all combined to steep the soul in sleep, and you sank by imperceptible and gradual steps into that state of easy slumber, in which "come no dreams," and the last sounds of the lecturer's "hypogenous and perigenous" died away, becoming beautifully less, till your senses sank into rest, the syllables "rigging us, rigging us," seemed to melt away in the distance and fade from your memory--Peace be with you, Doctor A.
If I owe gratitude any where I have my debt with you.
<<Back Index Next>> D-Link book Top TWC mobile books
|