m my sight, and
darkness, blank darkness closed me in, and I should have fallen to the
earth, but for the strong arm which held me in its grasp.
When I again opened my eyes, it was in the identical apothecary's shop
into which, some months before, I had carried the fainting Catherine
Lee. The little apothecary was preparing to open a vein in my arm. This
operation afforded me instant relief; my fury began to subside, and
tears slowly trickled down my cheeks.
George, who was anxiously watching every change in my countenance, told
the shop-boy to call a coach, which conveyed me in a few minutes to his
old lodgings in Fleet Street.
CHAPTER XV.
GEORGE HARRISON AND HIS HISTORY.
Many days passed over me of which I was totally unconscious. A violent
fever had set in, and I was not aware of my situation; scarcely of the
bodily sufferings I endured. My wants were ministered to by the
kindest, truest friend that ever soothed the miseries of the
unfortunate.
Fancying myself still under the control of Robert Moncton, and a
resident beneath his roof, I raved continually of my wrongs, and
exhausted myself by threats of vengeance. Long before the crisis of the
fever had passed, George had gathered from my impotent ravings the
story of my injuries. After fluctuating a long time between life and
death, youth and a naturally strong constitution conquered my malady,
and I once more thought and felt like a rational creature. My
indignation against my uncle and cousin subsided into a sullen,
implacable hatred, to overcome which I tried, and even prayed in vain.
Ashamed of harbouring this sinful passion, I yet wanted the moral
courage and Christian forbearance to overcome what reason and
conscience united to condemn.
Degraded in my own estimation, I longed, yet dreaded to confide to
Harrison, that the man he attended with such devotion was capable of
such base degeneracy--of entertaining sentiments only worthy of Robert
Moncton and his son.
The violence of my disorder had reduced me to such a state of weakness
that I imagined myself at the point of death, when I was actually out
of danger. My nervous system was so greatly affected that I yielded to
the most childish fears, and contemplated dying with indescribable
horror.
Harrison, who was unacquainted with the state of my mind, attributed
these feelings to the reaction produced by the fever; and thinking that
a state of quiescence was necessary for my recovery,
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