He gave orders for himself not
to be disturbed, and he went to bed; but in vain he tried to sleep. What
rack exceeds the torture of an excited brain and an exhausted body? His
hands and feet were like ice, his brow like fire; his ears rung with
supernatural roaring; a nausea had seized upon him, and death he would
have welcomed. In vain, in vain he courted repose; in vain, in vain he
had recourse to every expedient to wile himself to slumber. Each minute
he started from his pillow with some phrase which reminded him of his
late fearful society. Hour after hour moved on with its leaden pace;
each hour he heard strike, and each hour seemed an age. Each hour was
only a signal to cast off some covering, or shift his position. It was,
at length, morning. With a feeling that he should go mad if he remained
any longer in bed, he rose, and paced his chamber. The air refreshed
him. He threw himself on the floor; the cold crept over his senses, and
he slept.
CHAPTER IX.
_A Duke Without A Friend_
O YE immortal Gods! ye are still immortal, although no longer ye hover
o'er Olympus. The Crescent glitters on your mountain's base, and Crosses
spring from out its toppling crags.
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