I
returned once more to my chamber, the door of which I was careful
to lock. It was no time to think of repose. The moonlight began
already to fade before the light of the day. The approach of
morning was betokened by the usual signals. I mused upon the
events of this night, and determined to take up my abode henceforth
at my brother's. Whether I should inform him of what had happened
was a question which seemed to demand some consideration. My
safety unquestionably required that I should abandon my present
habitation.
As my thoughts began to flow with fewer impediments, the image of
Pleyel, and the dubiousness of his condition, again recurred to me.
I again ran over the possible causes of his absence on the
preceding day. My mind was attuned to melancholy. I dwelt, with
an obstinacy for which I could not account, on the idea of his
death. I painted to myself his struggles with the billows, and his
last appearance. I imagined myself a midnight wanderer on the
shore, and to have stumbled on his corpse, which the tide had cast
up. These dreary images affected me even to tears.
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