The manner of his watch was this. At dusk, he entered the house in the
same way as when the locksmith bore him company, kindled a light, went
through the rooms, and narrowly examined them. That done, he returned to
the chamber on the ground-floor, and laying his sword and pistols on the
table, sat by it until morning.
He usually had a book with him, and often tried to read, but never fixed
his eyes or thoughts upon it for five minutes together. The slightest
noise without doors, caught his ear; a step upon the pavement seemed to
make his heart leap.
He was not without some refreshment during the long lonely hours;
generally carrying in his pocket a sandwich of bread and meat, and a
small flask of wine. The latter diluted with large quantities of water,
he drank in a heated, feverish way, as though his throat were dried; but
he scarcely ever broke his fast, by so much as a crumb of bread.
If this voluntary sacrifice of sleep and comfort had its origin, as the
locksmith on consideration was disposed to think, in any superstitious
expectation of the fulfilment of a dream or vision connected with the
event on which he had brooded for so many years, and if he waited for
some ghostly visitor who walked abroad when men lay sleeping in their
beds, he showed no trace of fear or wavering.
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