"`Don't let her come near me,' said the man, with a shudder, as she stopped over him.`Drive her away; I can't bear her near me.' He stared wildly at her, with a look of deadly apprehension, and then whispered in my ear, `I beat her, Jem; I beat her yesterday, and many times before.
I have starved her and the boy too; and now I am weak and helpless, Jem, she'll murder me for it; I know she will.If you'd seen her cry, as I have, you'd know it too.Keep her off.' He relaxed his grasp, and sank back exhausted on the pillow.
"I knew but too well what all this meant.If I could have entertained any doubt of it, for an instant, one glance of the woman's pale face and wasted form would have sufficiently explained the real state of the case.
`You had better stand aside,' said I to the poor creature.`You can do him no good.Perhaps he will be calmer, if he does not see you.' She retired out of the man's sight.He opened his eyes, after a few seconds, and looked anxiously round.
"`Is she gone?' he eagerly inquired.
"`Yes--yes,' said I; `she shall not hurt you.'
"`I'll tell you what, Jem,' said the man, in a low voice, `she does hurt me.There's something in her eyes wakes such a dreadful fear in my heart, that it drives me mad.All last night, her large staring eyes and pale face were close to mine; wherever I turned, they turned; and whenever I started up from my sleep, she was at the bedside looking at me.' He drew me closer to him, as he said in a deep, alarmed whisper--`Jem, she must be an evil spirit--a devil! Hush! I know she is.If she had been a woman she would have died long ago.No woman could have borne what she has.'
"I sickened at the thought of the long course of cruelty and neglect which must have occurred to produce such an impression on such a man.Icould say nothing in reply; for who could offer hope, or consolation, to the abject being before me?
"I sat there for upwards of two hours, during which time he tossed about, murmuring exclamations of pain or impatience, restlessly throwing his arms here and there, and turning constantly from side to side.At length he fell into that state of partial unconsciousness, in which the mind wanders uneasily from scene to scene, and from place to place, without the control of reason, but still without being able to divest itself of an indescribable sense of present suffering.Finding from his incoherent wanderings that this was the case, and knowing that in all probability the fever would not grow immediately worse, I left him, promising his miserable wife that I would repeat my visit next evening, and, if necessary, sit up with the patient during the night.
"I kept my promise.The last four-and-twenty hours had produced a frightful alteration.The eyes, though deeply sunk and heavy, shone with a lustre frightful to behold.The lips were parched, and cracked in many places:
the dry hard skin glowed with a burning heat, and there was an almost unearthly air of wild anxiety in the man's face, indicating even more strongly the ravages of the disease.The fever was at its height.
"I took the seat I had occupied the night before, and there I sat for hours, listening to sounds which must strike deep to the heart of the most callous among human beings--the awful ravings of a dying man.From what I had heard of the medical attendant's opinion, I knew there was no hope for him: I was sitting by his death-bed.I saw the wasted limbs, which a few hours before had been distorted for the amusement of a boisterous gallery, writhing under the tortures of a burning fever--I heard the clown's shrill laugh, blending with the low murmurings of the dying man.
"It is a touching thing to hear the mind reverting to the ordinary occupations and pursuits of health, when the body lies before you weak and helpless;but when those occupations are of a character the most strongly opposed to anything we associate with grave or solemn ideas, the impression produced is infinitely more powerful.The theatre, and the public-house, were the chief themes of the wretched man's wanderings.It was evening, he fancied;he had a part to play that night; it was late, and he must leave home instantly.
Why did they hold him, and prevent his going?--he should lose the money--he must go.No! they would not let him.He hid his face in his burning hands, and feebly bemoaned his own weakness, and the cruelty of his persecutors.
A short pause, and he shouted out a few doggrel rhymes--the last he had ever learnt.He rose in bed, drew up his withered limbs, and rolled about in uncouth positions; he was acting--he was at the theatre.A minute's silence, and he murmured the burden of some roaring song.He had reached the old house at last: how hot the room was.He had been ill, very ill, but he was well now, and happy.Fill up his glass.Who was that, that dashed it from his lips?
It was the same persecutor that had followed him before.He fell back upon his pillow and moaned aloud.A short period of oblivion, and he was wandering through a tedious maze of low-arched rooms--so low, sometimes, that he must creep upon his hands and knees to make his way along; it was close and dark, and every way he turned, some obstacle impeded his progress.
There was insects too, hideous crawling things with eyes that stared upon him, and filled the very air around: glistening horribly amidst the thick darkness of the place.The walls and ceiling were alive with reptiles--the vault expanded to an enormous size--frightful figures flitted to and fro--and the faces of men he knew, rendered hideous by gibing and mouthing, peered out from among them; they were searing him with heated irons, and binding his head with cords till the blood started; and he struggled madly for life.