I think--" Want of sleep, indeed, and the excitement of the morning, had broken me down.

My mother stifled her desire to hear more, and tenderly saw me to bed, guessing my fatigue, but only dimly apprehensive of anything beyond.

In bed I lay all that morning, but could get no sleep.

The vengeance of that dreadful man seemed to fill the little room and charge the atmosphere with horror.

"I come on them in bed sometimes, and sometimes from behind when they're not looking"-- the words rang in my ears, and could not be muffled by the bed-clothes; whilst, if I began to doze, the dreadful burthen of his song-- "And the devil has got his due, my lads-- Sing ho! but he waits for you!"-- With the peculiar catch of its lilt, would suddenly make me start up, wide awake, with every nerve in my body dancing to its grisly measure.
At last, towards noon, I dozed off into a restless slumber, but only to see each sight and hear each sound repeated with every grotesque and fantastic variation.