rwards, for I recollect nothing about the journey, I
found myself in bed in a dark room and my arms confined. I recalled my
senses, and by degrees was able to recollect all that had occurred,
until I laid down by the roadside. Where was I? The room was dark, I
could distinguish nothing; that I had attempted to do myself some
injury, I took for granted, or my arms would not have been secured. I
had been in a fever and delirious, I supposed, and had now recovered. I
had been in a reverie for more than an hour, wondering why I was left
alone, when the door of the apartment opened. "Who is there?" inquired
I.

"Oh! you've come to yourself again," said a gruff voice; "then I'll give
you a little daylight."

He took down a shutter which covered the whole of the window, and a
flood of light poured in, which blinded me. I shut my eyes, and by
degrees admitted the light until I could bear it. I looked at the
apartment: the walls were bare and whitewashed. I was on a truckle-bed.
I looked at the window--it was closed up with iron bars.--"Why, where am
I?" inquired I of the man, with alarm.

"Where are you?" replied he; "why, in Bedlam!"

Chapter LXIV

As O'Brien said; it's a long lane that has no turning--I am rescued, and
happiness pours in upon me as fast as misery before overwhelmed me.

The shock was too great--I fell back on my pillow insensible. How long I
laid, I know not, but when I recovered the keeper was gone, and I found
a jug of water and some bread by the side of the bed, I drank the water,
and the effect it had upon me was surprising. I felt that I could get
up, and I rose: my arms had been unpinioned during my swoon. I got on my
feet, and staggered to the window. I looked out, saw the bright sun, the
passers-by, the houses opposite--all looked cheerful and gay, but I was
a prisoner in a madhouse. Had I been mad? I reflected, and supposed that
I had been, and had been confined by those who knew nothing of me. It
never came into my head that my uncle had been a party to it. I threw
myself on the bed, and relieved myself with tears. It was about noon
that the medical people, attended by the keepers and others, came into
my apartment. "Is he quite quiet?" "O Lord! yes, sir, as quiet as a
lamb," replied the man who had before entered. I then spoke to the
medical gentleman, begging him to tell why, and how, I had been brought
here. He answered mildly and soothingly, saying that I was there at the
wish of