The light of the two wax candles burning on the mantelshelf was scarcely sufficient to reveal every object distinctly. He did not, therefore, notice Mrs. Willson for several seconds, as she was partially hidden by the draperies of one of the windows; but when at length his eye lighted on her, he started back, with every appearance of consternation and annoyance. Her eyes A second glance, however, removed his uneasiness. were fixed, not on himself, but the ground, and the expression of mute agony and stony, passionless despair, which seemed stamped upon her pallid countenance, showed that there was no room in her heart for idle curiosity or useless investigation into the thoughts and feelings of another. "She is wholly absorbed in her grief," was Mr. Seymour's mental conclusion, after gazing at her for a short time, and seeing no change in her demeanour. And turning from her he leant over the bed of his gentle wife-his chest meanwhile heaving convulsively at the remembrance of his own great loss. For full ten minutes he remained in the same attitude; a few moans of deep but smothered anguish giving evidence from time to time of the exquisite suffering he was enduring. At last he drew back a step or two-pressed his hand to his forehead with a gesture of pain-sighed heavily-and, again leaning forward, kissed the lady's cold white brow; after which he disappeared as suddenly as he had come. In a minute he returned, and, going up to Willson, laid his tremling hand upon her shoulder, saying, in a low, quivering voice, 66 Why do you remain here, my good Willson? Go and rest." "Rest!" repeated the old woman, raising her eyes, and fixing them dreamingly upon his face-"what have I to say to rest?" "You will kill yourself," continued Mr. Seymour, struck with the utter hopelessness of her tone. "Why should I wish to survive her?" she answered, pointing gloomily towards the bed. An additional shade of pallor overspread Mr. Seymour's cheek at this allusion to the departed; and it was in a scarcely articulated whisper that he responded, "Your suffering cannot recall her to life, Willson." "I know it-oh! I know it!" exclaimed the faithful creature, with a startling change of voice and manner. "My mistress! my gentle, broken-hearted mistress!" she wailed, lifting her withered hands to her face, and rocking herself to and fro: "would God I had died for thee!" Mr. Seymour shuddered, and set his teeth firmly together, as she uttered these words of undesigned reproach; but before he could answer her she had burst into a flood of hysterical weeping, and he became really alarmed for her life, when he saw the agitation which shook her aged frame, and found that all his attempts to soothe and console her were entirely thrown away. "This will never do," he murmured; "I think I must call up some of the servants. Or, stay," he added glancing helplessly aronnd him; a glass of wine might possibly revive her." 66 He could see nothing of the kind in the room, however, and, nervously taking the lamp from the table, he once more left her alone. He came back presently with a decanter half filled with port wine in his hand, and, hastily pouring out a glass, tried to induce her to swallow it. He could not succeed; but, from the strenuous efforts Willson made to regain her composure, it was evident that she both noticed his distress, and felt grateful for the attention. Directly she was able to speak, she begged him to leave her; and after telling her that he had no intention of retiring to rest that night, and making her promise to come to him if she wanted anything, Mr. Seymour slowly withdrew. Her tears continued to flow long after his departure; but they now spoke more of gentleness and resignation than passionate despair. Her short interview with Mr. Seymour had shown her that, however intense her own anguish, it was far less than his. The bitterest ingredient in his suffering she was spared. She sorrowed-that was all! He also sorrowed, but his sorrow was equalled in severity-yea, swallowed up in a great and terrible remorse. * * * It was two hours past midnight. The wax lights were gradually burning lower and lower upon the mantelshelf of Mrs. Seymour's room, while the rest of the house still seemed to be wrapped in profound slumber. Willson was on her knees. Like Noah's dove, she had returned at length to her true Refuge. Conscious of her own great weakness, she was eagerly clinging to the Rock of Ages, and trying amidst blinding tears and a bleeding heart to say, "The will of the Lord be done." By-and-by she arose, feeling calmer and more submissive; though the painful sense of lassitude and weariness that crept over heart and body made her painfully alive to the fact of her increasing weakness, and the absolute necessity there was for her to seek some kind of repose. Accordingly she drew a small shawl which she wore closer around her, and sitting down in a low chair, leant back, and closed her eyes, hoping to obtain, not sleep, but a few minutes of quiet and undisturbed meditation-a brief respite from the numberless harassing and perplexing ideas which had hitherto kept her mind in a state of excruciating torture. She had remained in this position perhaps ten minutes when, amid the solemn silence that everywhere prevailed, a sudden sound, resembling that of a person drawing a lengthened inspiration, apparently proceeding from the bed, reached her ear. "I must certainly be dreaming," thought she, rubbing her eyes, and sitting bolt upright in her chair. CHAPTER LXVIII. A WONDERFUL CHANGE. "Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear "Didst thou not close that expiring eye, And did not thy lips receive the sigh, KEATS. "He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death, and brake their bands in sunder.” FOR the space of a few seconds, the sound which had startled Mrs. Willson was not repeated, and she tried to persuade herself that it was nothing more than the effect of her own imagination. Still she sat erect, listening with straining ear, suspended breath, and throbbing heart, in case she might be mistaken. Again it came,—that long, deep sighing sound! It was no illusion of the senses this time, no mere fanciful conjecture, but a fact, clear, positive, and convincing! As I said before, Willson was not superstitious. Nevertheless, she felt a strange thrill of apprehension run through her frame; her limbs trembled, a cold perspiration broke out upon her forehead, and her cheeks were overspread with a damp and leaden paleness. She essayed to rise from her seat, but at the first attempt fell back again, as if the effort had paralyzed her, and it was only when the mysterious sound was repeated for the third time, that she succeeded in shaking off the spell of terror which had arrested her, and rushing to the mantelshelf, lifted one of the candles, and advanced with it in her hand to the side of the bed. When she got there, she started like one struck by lightning-a sickly faintness made her knees shake, and every muscle of her face quivered with irrepressible emotion. One glance showed her that some great and inexplicable change had taken place in the supposed corpse. The last time she gazed at it, the eyes were fast shut; but now !— could she indeed credit the evidence of her senses?-she beheld them wide open; and, as she stood rooted to the spot, continuing to regard it in awe-stricken bewilderment (still half inclined to believe that she was the subject of some extraordinary hallucination of the brain), she saw one of the hands slowly move towards her, while the quivering eyelids and convulsive movements which agitated the poor lady's body seemed to speak of returning animation. "Can I be going mad?" gasped Willson, dropping the wax light (which fortunately went out without doing any mischief) upon the floor, and putting her hand to her head with a wearied, pained expression. Again she roused herself, and, conquering her dread, relighted the candle, and leaned over the bed, in order to ascertain as near as possible precisely how matters stood with her unfortunate mistress. As she did so, the eyes which had so recently seemed sealed in death were turned full upon her, with an expression of undoubted recognition; and the pale lips made a tremulous effort to speak! For an instant Willson's heart stood still. Then-as a sudden idea, which appeared wild and extravagant even to her own excited mind, dawned upon her-it gave a great bound. Her overstrained feelings experienced a strange and startling revulsion; joy once more revisited her desolate breast, and "Sweet Hope celestial influence round her shed, Without a moment's hesitation, Willson opened a tall rosewood press, and after bringing from thence several down coverlets, and heaping them upon the bed, she seized the poor lady's hands, and tried by chafing them to assist in restoring the circulation to her ex-animate frame. It was no easy task; still she persevered; and felt herself amply rewarded when another lengthened inspiration, quickly followed by a scarcely perceptible pressure of the hand, showed that her exertions were not in vain. Presently she remembered the wine which Mr. Seymour had brought for herself, and though she shrank from the responsibility of administering it without the doctor's sanction, yet the urgency of the case the absolute impossibility of her leaving the room even to call Mr. Seymour, and the chance, almost certainty, that unless some kind of nourishment was immediately taken the poor lady must perish from sheer exhaustion-decided her on trying the experiment. She proceeded, however, with the utmost caution, commencing by merely moistening the parched lips from time to time with the wine; and when she saw that it brought a faint tinge of colour to the ghastly cheek, she gradually increased the quantity, until the first glass was emptied. Then Mrs. Seymour's eyes seemed to ask for more; but, ere she ventured to pour out a second glass, the anxious nurse waited to note the effect of what had already been taken. Again she saw the trembling lips unclose and try to speak, and by bending her ear close she caught the words,-"Very weak." A thrill of rapturous pleasure, such as Willson had rarely, perhaps never before experienced, shot through her heart at this faintly uttered whisper. She was incapable of making any reply, but clasping her withered hands together in the fulness of her joy, she raised her eyes gratefully towards heaven. Another slight movement arrested her, and again leaning forward, she heard the same feeble voice asking, "Have I been long ill?" Pray God the past may never return to her recollection," mentally aspirated Willson. "Don't talk, my dear mistress," she said, in a tender, soothing tone; "you will soon be better, I hope." Mrs. Seymour did not make any further attempt to speak, but lay for some time perfectly still, exhibiting no other signs of remaining consciousness except such as might be implied by her obediently receiving the wine which was given her at regular intervals. Willson became now extremely anxious to send off for Dr. Leslie. More than once she had been on the point of ringing the bell for assistance, but she knew that the smallest excitement would instantly extinguish the spark of life, which could hardly yet be said to be rekindled in the poor lady's frame, and feared she might be unable to prevent her from hearing some of the ejaculations of incredulity, wonder, and alarm, which would be sure to follow the unexpected announcement of her truly miraculous preservation. When she had allowed her to take as much wine as she dared under the circumstances, Willson felt her hands and feet, and, after wrapping the clothes more closely around her, she bent down, and said, in a soft motherly tone, "I am going away for a few minutes, my darling." Mrs. Seymour languidly opened her eyes, and fixed them quite sensibly upon the old woman's face. She did, not, however, at first understand her, but on the words being repeated, she moved her hand, and softly touched one of Willson's, which happened to be lying on the coverlet. "You will not move until I return?" pleaded Willson, in the gentlest of gentle tones. Mrs. Seymour's lips formed a voiceless "No." And the affectionate old woman, apparently relieved from all present apprehensions regarding her beloved mistress, lighted another candle, and softly left the apartment. Rapidly, albeit with agitated footsteps, she threaded the long winding passages, until she reached that remote wing of the building which was occupied by the servants. Here she paused, and communed with herself for one moment, murmuring meanwhile, in a low, suppressed voice, "Yes, it must be him, I suppose Burns is too old and methodical, the footman too young and pompous, but he, though inexperienced and excitable, is in the main exceedingly good-natured and unselfish, besides being far quicker in his movements. Thus saying, she gently turned the handle of one of the doors. It yielded to her touch, and, after reclosing it, she shaded the light with her hand, and stole on tiptoe to the farthest end of the room. This apartment contained two beds; one being occupied by a footman, the second by Mr. Seymour's valet. Willson's great fear was, that in endeavouring to awaken the one, she should disturb the other also. Neither of them stirred at her entrance; so putting the candle down, she proceeded, sans ceremonie, to give Browning a vigorous shake; and finding that he continued to sleep as uninterruptedly as before, she was obliged to repeat it several times. "What's the matter?" he cried out at length, starting up, and rubbing his eyes with all his might. Who in the name of fortune are you, and "Hush!" whispered Willson, laying her hand upon his lips, and pointing to his companion's bed; "listen to me, and don't utter one syllable." |