They rattled into London, stopped in Lombard Street, reached
Holborn, entered an archway; the coachman threw the whip and reins from
his now careless hands. The Duke bade farewell to Tom Rawlins, and was
shown to a bed.
CHAPTER VIII.
_The Duke Makes a Speech_
THE return of morning had in some degree dissipated the gloom that had
settled on the young Duke during the night. Sound and light made him
feel less forlorn, and for a moment his soul again responded to his high
purpose. But now he was to seek necessary repose. In vain. His heated
frame and anxious mind were alike restless. He turned, he tossed in his
bed, but he could not banish from his ear the whirling sound of his late
conveyance, the snore of Mr. Macmorrogh, and the voice of Tom Rawlins.
He kept dwelling on every petty incident of his journey, and repeating
in his mind every petty saying. His determination to slumber made him
even less sleepy. Conscious that repose was absolutely necessary to
the performance of his task, and dreading that the boon was now
unattainable, he became each moment more feverish and more nervous; a
crowd of half-formed ideas and images flitted over his heated brain.
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