noon
All that night I tossed about on my uncomfortable feather-bed , or rather , when I found I could not sleep , I rose after a time , and wrapped in my dressing-gown , I sat by my tiny window , watching the shadows of the wind-blown locust-boughs on the moonlit grass below , full of the dreams which are the stuff that romances are made of , and which , though I had often used them as `` material , '' I had never known myself before ; shy and tender dreams they were , that glorified that summer night , and kept me wakeful until dawn . The next day and the next I was ill and feverish , so ill that I could not rise . Mr. Longworth brought for me great bunches of choice flowers , for which he must have sent Wilson to the next town of New Sidon , and a dainty basket of fruit . The third day I rose and dressed toward noon , and weak as I felt , I decided to walk down to the post-office , for I thought perhaps the air would do me good , and beside , the mail was never brought up until after dark , and I longed to find if Mr. -- had written me as I expected , about the manuscript . I knew he would be very prompt with me . I found several letters in the box for me , and eagerly scanning the envelopes , I discovered the well-known buff tint , with the red device of a female figure with a book clasped to the breast , that is the livery of '' -- 's Magazine . '' I tore it open , reading as I slowly walked .