Possibly her resolution defeated its object.
She continued in a condition of dull and heavy wakefulness till the
darkness became intolerable to her. In it she saw perpetually the long
procession of the pale recruits winding up the hill of Addouna with
their bags and bundles, like spectres on a way of dreams. Finally she
resolved to accept a sleepless night. She lit her candle again and saw
that the brick floor was no longer heaving. Two of the books that
she called her "bed-books" lay within easy reach of her hand. One was
Newman's _Dream of Gerontius_, the other a volume of the Badminton
Library. She chose the former and began to read.
Towards two o'clock she heard a long-continued rustling. At first she
supposed that her tired brain was still playing her tricks. But the
rustling continued and grew louder. It sounded like a noise coming from
something very wide, and spread out as a veil over an immense surface.
She got up, walked across the floor to the open window and unfastened
the _persiennes_. Heavy rain was falling. The night was very black,
and smelt rich and damp, as if it held in its arms strange offerings--a
merchandise altogether foreign, tropical and alluring.
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