The Next Morning

Oh, such a day!
So fought, so followed and so fairly won
Came not till now to dignify the times.
Since Cæsar's fortunes.

Shakespeare

Capitola lay upon the bed, with her face buried in the pillow, the
greater portion of the time from two o'clock until day. An
uncontrollable horror prevented her from turning lest she should see
the yawning mystery in the middle of the floor, or hear some awful
sound from its unknown depths. The very shadows on the walls thrown up
wildly by the expiring firelight were objects of grotesque terror.
Never--never--in her whole youth of strange vicissitude, had the nerves
of this brave girl been so tremendously shaken and prostrated.

It was late in the morning when at last nature succumbed, and she sank
into a deep sleep. She had not slept long when she was aroused from a
profound state of insensibility by a loud, impatient knocking at her
door.

She started up wildly and gazed around her. For a minute she could not
remember what were the circumstances under which she had laid down, or
what was that vague feeling of horror and alarm that possessed her.
Then the yawning trap-door, the remnants of the supper, and Black
Donald's coat, hat and boots upon the floor, drove in upon her reeling
brain the memory of the night of terror!

The knocking continued more loudly and impatiently, accompanied by the
voice of Mrs. Condiment, crying: "Miss Capitola--Miss Capitola--why, what can be the matter with her?
Miss Capitola!"