For a moment, I fumbled with the
knots, weakly; but they were wet and hard, and I could do nothing. Then,
I remembered my knife, and, in a minute, the rope was cut.
How I reached the house, I scarcely know, and, of the days that
followed, I remember still less. Of one thing, I am certain, that, had
it not been for my sister's untiring love and nursing, I had not been
writing at this moment.
When I recovered my senses, it was to find that I had been in bed for
nearly two weeks. Yet another week passed, before I was strong enough to
totter out into the gardens. Even then, I was not able to walk so far as
the Pit. I would have liked to ask my sister, how high the water had
risen; but felt it was wiser not to mention the subject to her. Indeed,
since then, I have made a rule never to speak to her about the strange
things, that happen in this great, old house.
It was not until a couple of days later, that I managed to get across
to the Pit. There, I found that, in my few weeks' absence, there had
been wrought a wondrous change.
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