He rose at cock-crow, unrefreshed both in body and mind, and, descending into the lower regions, he paced abstractedly through each tenantless room in turn.

He found it, however, a forlorn and cheerless way of killing the time.  Everything seemed dead; not a sign of life was visible.  The rooms were desolate, and looked the worst, while the fire grate, empty save for a few dead ashes, seemed but a picture of his own misery, and instead of yielding him even a grain of comfort, its bars, appeared to grin upon him with solid defiance.  Everything seemed comfortless in the extreme, and as the melancholy train of thought into which he had fallen was in no wise cheered by this manner of proceeding, he passed into the library, which seemed least cheerless of all, and sat himself down.

Still he could not enliven himself nor shake off the gloomy feeling which had settled upon him; all around was perfectly still, and the very silence palled upon his fancy.  It was, he imagined, the calm before the storm; the tempest would be raging round him soon in all its fury; and moving the empty horn cups aside—­the relics of the night’s carousal—­he reached down a volume from the thinly-populated bookshelf, hoping to calm his excited feelings by arousing an interest which might for a time distract his attention from the forthcoming trial.  It was a book of poems, and with a contemptuous “tush!” he impatiently replaced it upon its shelf, and sank down into his seat and fell into a fitful doze, only to be tormented afresh by hosts of enemies, each of whom was eager to destroy him, while he could only look on in dismay and witness his own fall.

Sir George was no light weight, and under the pressure of his body the table was gradually pushed further and further away from the bench upon the smoothly polished boards, until at length it failed to offer him any support and he was suddenly awakened by falling heavily upon the floor.

Half dazed by the fall, and still uncertain whether he were awake or asleep, the good knight rubbed his eyes and looked around.  He heaved a sigh of relief to find that he was yet alive, for he had at first imagined that the furies had succeeded in encompassing his ruin.  He ran his fingers through his iron-grey locks of dishevelled hair, and comprehending that he was seated upon the floor, he made an effort to rise.

As he placed his hand upon the floor it touched something which yielded to the pressure.  Involuntarily he drew it back and placed himself instinctively in an attitude of defence.  He hated vermin of every kind, and this he instantly resolved was a rodent of some description.

His first hurried glance showed him that he was mistaken.  It was but an innocent roll of paper, and laughing at his fears, he picked it up, and placing it upon the table, regained his seat.