As though further to convince me that I had not been dreaming, I remember
that it was a long time before I fell again into a troubled and restless
sleep; and even then only the upper crust of me slept, and underneath there
was something that never quite lost consciousness, but lay alert and on the
watch.
But this second time I jumped up with a genuine start of terror. It was
neither the wind nor the river that woke me, but the slow approach of
something that caused the sleeping portion of me to grow smaller and
smaller till at last it vanished altogether, and I found myself sitting
bolt upright--listening.
Outside there was a sound of multitudinous little patterings. They had been
coming, I was aware, for a long time, and in my sleep they had first become
audible. I sat there nervously wide awake as though I had not slept at all.
It seemed to me that my breathing came with difficulty, and that there was
a great weight upon the surface of my body. In spite of the hot night, I
felt clammy with cold and shivered. Something surely was pressing steadily
against the sides of the tent and weighing down upon it from above. Was it
the body of the wind? Was this the pattering rain, the dripping of the
leaves? The spray blown from the river by the wind and gathering in big
drops? I thought quickly of a dozen things.
Then suddenly the explanation leaped into my mind: a bough from the poplar,
the only large tree on the island, had fallen with the wind.
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