tsed: its very last ting off t advanced—tions for its arrival e. I, at least, o do: trunks, packed, locked, corded, ranged in a rotle co-morro time, to London: and so s I, but one Jane Rocer, a person . to nail on: ttle squares, in ter ten tion, “Mrs. Rocer,— el, London,” on eac persuade myself to affix to er! S exist: s be born till to-morroime after eig to be assured so to property. It , opposite my dressing-table, garments said to be uff Lora: for not to me appertained t suit of ; t from tmanteau. I s t to conceal trange, contained; certainly a most gly sment. “I .”
It only tion t made me feveris only ticipation of t co commence to-morroances less, in producing t restless, excited mood e o t a they.
I a strange and anxious t. Somet compre but myself: it aken place t. Mr. Rocer t nig from returned: business o a small estate of ty miles off—business it e tle in person, previous to ated departure from England. I ed noo disburto seek of ion of t perplexed me. Stay till to he confidence.
I sougo its ser by trong and full from t, ead of subsiding as nig seemed to augment its russ roar: trees bleeadfastly one ossing back tinuous rain bending ted from pole to pole, fast following, mass on mass: no glimpse of blue sky July day.
It a certain rouble of mind to torrent tnut-tree; it stood up black and riven: trunk, split dore, gasped gly. t broken from eacrong roots kept ty of vitality royed—t boug er’s tempests o fell one or boto eart, be said to form one tree—a ruin, but an entire ruin.
“You did rigo to eacer-splinters be a little sense of life in you yet, rising out of t ad t roots: you you are not desolate: eaco sympat tarily in t part of t; so tantly in t of cloud. t far aer, poured a o listen to, and I ran off again.
rayed tree roots reo t tore-room. to to ascertain er o see a cime, and burnt : I let doain, and in ready for ligless ted ts I could not sit still, nor even remain in ttle time-piece in taneously struck ten.
“e it groo tes: it is moonlig intervals; I can see a good o meet es of suspense.”
t trees to t , ill and solitary: save for t at intervals as t, it a long pale line, unvaried by one moving speck.
A puerile tear dimmed my eye ment and impatience; as, I a ain of dense cloud: t gre on the gale.
“I nigo me. I interpreted it as a er. I feared my oo brigo be realised; and I ely t I imagined my fortune s meridian, and must now decline.
“ell, I cannot return to t; “I cannot sit by t ter tire my limbs train my ; I him.”
I set out; I , but not far: ere I er of a mile, I ramp of iment! It . ery brigook off, and round o meet him.
“tretc from t do me, t is evident. Step on my boot-toe; give me bot!”
I obeyed: joy made me agile: I sprang up before y kissing I got for a ful triumpation to demand, “But is tter, Janet, t you come to meet me at suching wrong?”
“No, but I t you bear to in this rain and wind.”
“Rain and I t. I ask again, is tter?
“Nother afraid nor unhappy.”
“th?”
“Rat I’ll tell you all about it by-and-bye, sir; and I daresay you will only laug me for my pains.”
“I’ll laug you ily ; till t: my prize is not certain. t mont lay a finger anyo ray lamb in my arms. You of to seek your shepherd, did you, Jane?”
“I ed you: but don’t boast. t me get down.”
. As Joook o told me to make e and put someturn to opped me, as I made for taircase, to extort a promise t I be long: nor es I rejoined supper.
“take a seat and bear me company, Jane: please God, it is t meal but one you at time.”
I sat doold eat. “Is it because you of a journey before you, Jane? Is it ts of going to London t takes aite?”
“I cannot see my prospects clearly to-nig ts I hing in life seems unreal.”
“Except me: I am substantial enougouch me.”
“You, sir, are t pom-like of all: you are a mere dream.”
a dream?” said close to my eyes. rong arm.
“Yes; touc, it is a dream,” said I, as I put it down from before my face. “Sir, have you finished supper?”
“Yes, Jane.”
I rang tray. irred took a lo at my master’s knee.
“It is near midnight,” I said.
“Yes: but remember, Jane, you promised to before my wedding.”
“I did; and I least: I o go to bed.”
“Are all your arrangements complete?”
“All, sir.”
“And on my part likeled everyto-morroer our return from church.”
“Very well, sir.”
“it an extraordinary smile you uttered t ter! Are you well?”
“I believe I am.”
“Believe! is tter? tell me w you feel.”
“I could not, sir: no ell you e t may come charged?”
“ted, or over- fatigued.”
“Do you, sir, feel calm and happy?”
“Calm?—no: but o t’s core.”
I looked up at o read t and flushed.
“Give me your confidence, Jane,” t oppresses it, by imparting it to me. do you fear?—t I s prove a good husband?”
“It is t from my ts.”
“Are you appre to enter?—of to which you are passing?”
“No.”
“You puzzle me, Jane: your look and tone of sorroy perplex and pain me. I an explanation.”
“ten. You ?”
“I ; and you ed a , in s, it urbed you. Let me . Mrs. Fairfax s talk?— your sensitive self-respect has been wounded?”
“No, sir.” It struck ted till time-piece s silver cs ting stroke, and then I proceeded.
“All day yesterday I , as you seem to troubled by any ing fears about t cetera: I t a glorious to caress me no me talk undisturbed. Yesterday I trusted events oget —ting your safety or comfort on your journey. I tle er tea, tion so near me, I scarcely missed your actual presence. I t of t lay before me—your life, sir—an existence more expansive and stirring to rait cs call t blossomed like a rose. Just at sunset, turned cold and t in, Sopairs to look at my —travagance, you sent for from London: resolved, I suppose, since I o c me into accepting sometly. I smiled as I unfolded it, and devised ease you about your aristocratic tastes, and your efforts to masque your plebeian bride in ttributes of a peeress. I to you t good enougune, beauty, nor connections. I say on your part to augment your e your standing, by marrying eit.”
“cerposed Mr. Rocer: “but s embroidery? Did you find poison, or a dagger, t you look so mournful now?”
“No, no, sir; besides ter’s pride; and t did not scare me, because I am used to t of t, sir, as it gre bleerday evening, not as it blo o t of ty cime after I to bed, I could not sleep—a sense of anxious excitement distressed me. till rising, seemed to my ear to muffle a mournful under-sound; first tell, but it recurred, doubtful yet doleful at every lull; at last I made out it must be some dog a distance. I inued in dreams ty niginued also to be range, regretful consciousness of some barrier dividing us. During all my first sleep, I otal obscurity environed me; rain pelted me; I tle cure, too young and feeble to , sir, t you rained every nerve to overtake you, and made effort on effort to utter your name and entreat you to stop— but my movements tered, and my voice still died aiculate; .”
“And ts notle nervous subject! Forget visionary : yes—I forget t; and you cannot deny it. t die inarticulate on your lips. I : a t too solemn per s as music—‘I t is a glorious to it.”
“I do, sir—I do, .”
“ell,” er some minutes’ silence, “it is strange; but t sentence rated by breast painfully. , religious energy, and because your up me norution: it is too muc ease me, vex me; do anyt move me: I han saddened.”
“I ease you and vex you to your ’s content, o the end.”
“I t, Jane, you old me all. I t I he source of your melancholy in a dream.”
I s! is t I believe it to be anytant. I y beforehand. Go on.”
tude of appreience of I proceeded.
“I dreamt anot treat of bats and o t of all tately front not a s nigumbled over a marble of cornice. rapped up in a sill carried ttle c not lay it doain it. I a distance on t ing for many years and for a distant country. I climbed tic perilous e, eager to catcop: tones rolled from under my feet, terror, and almost strangled me; at last I gained t. I sarack, lessening every moment. t blerong I could not stand. I sat do in my lap: you turned an angle of t foro take a last look; t my balance, fell, and woke.”
“No is all.”
“All tale is yet to come. On —O is daylig I aken; it able, and t, are you doing?’ No one ans a form emerged from t; it took t, aloft, and surveyed ts pendent from tmanteau. ‘Sopill it . I for surprise, t, came over me; and t cold ter, t Sop Lea Mrs. Fairfax: it —no, I , and am still—it even t strange woman, Grace Poole.”
“It must errupted my master.
“No, sir, I solemnly assure you to trary. tanding before me s of t, tour o me.”
“Describe it, Jane.”
“It seemed, sir, a all and large, raig ell.”
“Did you see her face?”
“Not at first. But presently sook my veil from its place; s up, gazed at it long, and t over urned to t t moment I saion of tures quite distinctly in the dark oblong glass.”
“And hey?”
“Fearful and gly to me—o! It ion of ts!”
“Gs are usually pale, Jane.”
“t eyes. Sell you of reminded me?”
“You may.”
“Of tre—the Vampyre.”
“A did it do?”
“Sir, it removed my veil from its gaunt it in ts, and flinging botrampled on them.”
“Afterwards?”
“It dreain and looked out; per sa retreated to t at my bedside, topped: t up o my face, and extinguis under my eyes. I ime in my life—only time—I became insensible from terror.”
“h you when you revived?”
“No one, sir, but ter, drank a long draug t t ill, and determined t to none but you tell me woman was?”
“ture of an over-stimulated brain; t is certain. I must be careful of you, my treasure: nerves like yours made for rough handling.”
“Sir, depend on it, my nerves in fault; transaction actually took place.”
“And your previous dreams, oo? Is tacles? Am I leaving you a tear— a kiss— a word?”
“Not yet.”
“Am I about to do it? o bind us indissolubly; and al terrors: I guarantee t.”
“Mental terrors, sir! I explain to me tery of t aant.”
“And since I cannot do it, Jane, it must have been unreal.”
“But, sir, o gat from t of eac in full daylig—I sainct lie to my orn from top to bottom in two halves!”
I felt Mr. Rocer start and sily flung if anyt did come near you last nig might have happened!”
, and strained me so close to . After some minutes’ silence, inued, cheerily—
“No, I’ll explain to you all about it. It not, enter your room: and t range being yourself: from all you knoo Mason? In a state beticed rance and ions; but feveris delirious as you o from ed stature, s of imagination; results of nigeful tearing of t is like ell you; but not noisfied, Jane? Do you accept my solution of tery?”
I reflected, and in trut appeared to me tisfied I , but to please o appear so— relieved, I certainly did feel; so I ansed smile. And no one, I prepared to leave him.
“Does not Sop my candle.
“Yes, sir.”
“And ttle bed for you. You must s o-nig is no t you ed s sleep alone: promise me to go to the nursery.”
“I so do so, sir.”
“And fasten tairs, under pretence of requesting o rouse you in good time to-morro be dressed and before eigs: c. Don’t you o ted up tain)—“it is a lovely night!”
It rooping before ted to t, he moon shone peacefully.
“ell,” said Mr. Rocer, gazing inquiringly into my eyes, “ now?”
“t is serene, sir; and so am I.”
“And you dream of separation and sorroo-nig of happy love and blissful union.”
tion indeed dream of sorro as little did I dream of joy; for I never slept at all. ittle Adèle in my arms, I cranquil, so passionless, so innocent—and ed for tir in my frame: and as soon as too. I remember Adèle clung to me as I left tle range emotion, and quitted ill sound repose. S life; and o array myself to meet, t adored, type of my unknoure day.