For my part, it was a long time before I could sleep at all. There was something in the fate that threatened us, more appalling than the terrors of death. The impressions produced by the ravings, and cries, and struggles, of our poor little fellow-sufferer were yet fresh, and they could not be effaced. All in vain I strove to control the workings of my morbidly excited imagination--I could not shut out the fearful thoughts and anticipations which the occurrences of the day so naturally and obviously suggested. The lapse of twenty-four hours might find us all reduced to the same helpless state, deprived of consciousness and reason. One after another must succumb to the fever and become delirious, until he who should last fall its victim, should find himself alone in the midst of his stricken and raving companions--alone retaining reason, no longer to be accounted a blessing, since it could only serve to make him sensible to all the accumulated horrors of his situation. I shuddered as I contemplated the possibility that I might be the most wretched one, the last of all to sink and perish. At length, I began to imagine that my mind was actually beginning to fail, and that I was becoming delirious. At first it was but a fearful suspicion. Soon, however, it took such strong possession of me, that I was compelled to relinquish all thought of sleep. Sitting up, I saw that Arthur was awake and by the side of Johnny. His face was upturned, and his hands clasped as if in prayer. I could see his lips move, and even the tears trickling from beneath his closed lids, for the moonlight fell upon his countenance. He did not observe me, and after a few moments he laid down again without speaking, and soon appeared to slumber like the rest.