of the next day, thinking how five days
more would find me at-home, with ample
time to spare, before the coming of little
Constancy's birthday, the last day in the
year. Struggling hard to put away from
me those closing, creeping fingers; when
towards nightfall, my head began to swim
round, and the fingers to take fast hold,
and I felt that I must give in at last.
Now, at a lonely posting village, called
Laon or Lacon, or some such name, just
past the French frontier, the bitter truth
was at last forced upon me, that I could go
no farther; so I was helped up into the
lonely inn of the lonely place, through a little
crowd of rude, heavy peasants, up into a cold
dismal cell, with a brick floor. Through a
dewy film, fast gathering on my eyes, was
visible the landlord's full-moon face, gloating,
ogre-like, over the prey dropped at his
door. The ogre would feast upon me yet,
and worse than all, keep me there in duress
for ages. More wretched than ever I had
felt before in my life, I gave myself up
unresisting to the gripe of the ague fingers,
and was soon wandering, lost in the hot
clouds of fever-land. That first night in the
lonely inn was a night of terrors and horrid
shapes, familiars of intermittent fever just
then beginning its work. I was drowning—
beaten under—swallowed up in great green
waves, over and over again. There was the
old roar of waters in my ears, and I would
wake up gasping, only to find myself tossing
in those other fiery, linen waves. At the dead
of the night, even as the poor soldier in the
song, "A sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere
the morning I dreamt it again." Not thrice
only, but many times, were those boiling
waters parted, and a bright green spot, where
the sun was shining, and Little Constancy
walking—looking out anxiously for one,
under pledge to return home by her birthday,
displayed to my poor eyes. Struggling,
panting to reach that spot, which looked
like Paradise, I would be drawn back
again, and would waken up with a cry of
despair.

When daylight broke, it showed me a
crowd of stupid, staring faces;—the great
saucer-eyed landlord, an ogre by daylight;
his wife, saucer-eyed too; and a creature
white-aproned, with a basin and towel, whose
office I divined instinctively. I motioned him
away distractedly, adjuring him with wild
gestures to begone. I would not be quacked
to death, I shrieked, by their barber-surgeons.
The round, stupid faces looked on one
another, the negro lips muttered some jargon,
and I heard the sabots clatter as they
closed in round me. The wretch with the
bowl had something glittering between his
teeth, plainly bent upon his bloody work.
He was advancing on me, and all hope
seemed gone, when the sabots shuffled and
scraped once more, and the heavy, lumbering
figures opened a passage for some one to
approach. A figure in black, an angel from
Heaven, it seemed to me, glided up softly
to the bedside, took my hot hand in his,
and spoke words in a low voice that filled
me with comfort. Most sweet and soothing
apparition was it, the gentle ecclesiastic of
the village, who had heard of the stranger
that lay sick up at the inn. I pointed feebly
to the man with the bowl and instrument,
who I felt was still thirsting for blood. I was
understood, and a few words sent the
staring crowd clattering and shuffling from
the room, down the sanded stairs, into the
street.

A dark-robed being remained, whom I
watched curiously for hours after, moving
softly round the room, and bending over
something on the fire. It at once took
possession of me that this must be a
leech: one of the mysterious men read of
in old books, who dealt in specifics, and
electuaries, and healing draughts. Perhaps
he had about him an elixir of strange
potency; and, when the dark-robed figure
bending down low over the fire, took
something off and drew near to the bed with a
glass goblet filled with a portion, I looked
anxiously to see him take from his breast
that red purse containing an amulet, which
was to be steeped many minutes in the
efficacious draught. Thence came deep sleep,
and sudden awakening, late at night, together
with a sense of refreshment, and weary load
removed.

Within four days from that date I was
getting up well-nigh restored; being brought
through by the kind thought and skill of
my village curé. He had a good knowledge
of simples, that gentle priest, which served
him quite as well as the hakim's purse and
amulet; and, better still, had kept the door
fast against the accredited practitioner, who
had come, importunately, many times over. I
was so restored, indeed, that we came to talking
of my setting out within a day or so. Very
pleasant was it to think of those great fever-
waves, now wholly subsided; and of the
smooth table-land where Little Constancy
had been seen to walk; and of that dear
birthday to which I had been looking,—
now at last attainable, and within
certain hope. Pleasant, too, even that laying
out the route speculatively, with the good
curé's help. How I was to post it
expeditiously to Toulouse; how I was to lie
there one night, and then take the heavy
diligence straight up to Paris; which, it was
certain, had once more commenced its
runnings, the roads having been hastily got
into repair. From Toulouse to Paris, then,
in a heavy diligence; on from Paris in a
heavy diligence again; Calais then; Dover
then—Ship hotel; the Lightning, four-horse
coach; London; Little Constancy and birthday
fireside. Thus we laid it out; when,
suddenly, for the first time, I bethought
me of a certain leather pocket-book, securely