eight o’clock in the morning
and while you read it , did you ever picture to yourself what my feelings would probably be during its perusal ? Most likely not ; but I am not going to descant upon them now : I will only make this acknowledgment , little honourable as it may be to human nature , and especially to myself , -- that the former half of the narrative was , to me , more painful than the latter , not that I was at all insensible to Mrs. Huntingdon 's wrongs or unmoved by her sufferings , but , I must confess , I felt a kind of selfish gratification in watching her husband 's gradual decline in her good graces , and seeing how completely he extinguished all her affection at last . The effect of the whole , however , in spite of all my sympathy for her , and my fury against him , was to relieve my mind of an intolerable burden , and fill my heart with joy , as if some friend had roused me from a dreadful nightmare . It was now near eight o'clock in the morning , for my candle had expired in the midst of my perusal , leaving me no alternative but to get another , at the expense of alarming the house , or to go to bed , and wait the return of daylight . On my mother 's account , I chose the latter ; but how willingly I sought my pillow , and how much sleep it brought me , I leave you to imagine . At the first appearance of dawn , I rose , and brought the manuscript to the window , but it was impossible to read it yet . I devoted half an hour to dressing , and then returned to it again .