That it was more than sixty hours since he had
slept; that he had started from London at a moment's notice; that
the Channel had been very rough for the time of the year; that he
had never been in this part of France before, and hoped to see a
good deal of the Pyrenees, perhaps to have a run into Spain; that
first of all he wanted to find the abode of an English lady named
Mrs. Cap--Cop--he couldn't think of the name, but he had written
it down in his pocket-book.
The door closed; the waiter was gone; but Warburton still talked
French.
"Oui, oui--en effet--tres fatigue, horriblement fatiguee! Trois
nuits sans sommeil--trois nuits--trois!"
His clothes fell in a heap on the floor; his body fell in another
direction. He was dead asleep.
CHAPTER 37
Amid struggle and gloom the scene changed. He was in Kew Gardens,
rushing hither and thither, in search of some one. The sun still
beat upon him, and he streamed at every pore. Not only did he seek
in vain, but he could not remember who it was that he sought. This
way and that, along the broad and narrow walks, he hurried in
torment, until of a sudden, at a great distance, he descried a
figure seated on a bench. He bounded forward. In a moment he would
see the face, and would know--
When he awoke a sense of strangeness hung about him, and, as he sat
up in bed, he remembered. This was the hotel at St. Jean de Luz.
What could be the time? He had no matches at hand, and did not know
where the bell was.
Pages:
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250