|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 33
Mrs. Crayford looks back at the house. Sad experience makes her
suspicious of the servants' curiosity. Sad experience has long
since warned her that the servants are not to be trusted within
hearing of the wild words which Clara speaks in the trance. Has
any one of them ventured into the garden? No. They are out of
hearing at the window, waiting for the signal which tells them
that their help is needed.
Turning toward Clara once more, Mrs. Crayford hears the vacantly
uttered words, falling faster and faster from her lips,
"Frank! Frank! Frank! Don't drop behind--don't trust Richard
Wardour. While you can stand, keep with the other men, Frank!"
(The farewell warning of Crayford in the solitudes of the Frozen
Deep, repeated by Clara in the garden of her English home!)
A moment of silence follows; and, in that moment, the vision has
changed. She sees him on the iceberg now, at the mercy of the
bitterest enemy he has on earth. She sees him drifting--over the
black water, through the ashy light.
"Wake, Frank! wake and defend yourself! Richard Wardour knows
that I love you--Richard Wardour's vengeance will take your life!
Wake, Frank--wake! You are drifting to your death!" A low groan
of horror bursts from her, sinister and terrible to hear.
"Drifting! drifting!" she whispers to herself--"drifting to his
death!"
Her glassy eyes suddenly soften--then close. A long shudder runs
through her. A faint flush shows itself on the deadly pallor of
her face, and fades again. Her limbs fail her. She sinks into
Mrs. Crayford's arms.
The servants, answering the call for help, carry her into the
house. They lay her insensible on her bed. After half an hour or
more, her eyes open again--this time with the light of life in
them--open, and rest languidly on the friend sitting by the
bedside.
"I have had a dreadful dream," she murmurs faintly. "Am I ill,
Lucy? I feel so weak."
Even as she says the words, sleep, gentle, natural sleep, takes
her suddenly, as it takes young children weary with their play.
Though it is all over now, though no further watching is
required, Mrs. Crayford still keeps her place by the bedside, too
anxious and too wakeful to retire to her own room.
On other occasions, she is accustomed to dismiss from her mind
the words which drop from Clara in the trance. This time the
effort to dismiss them is beyond her power. The words haunt her.
Vainly she recalls to memory all that the doctors have said to
her, in speaking of Clara in the state of trance. "What she
vaguely dreads for the lost man whom she loves is mingled in her
mind with what she is constantly reading, of trials, dangers, and
escapes in the Arctic seas. The most startling things that she
may say or do are all attributable to this cause, and may all be
explained in this way." So the doctors have spoken; and, thus
far, Mrs. Crayford has shared their view. It is only to-night
that the girl's words ring in her ear, with a strange prophetic
sound in them. It is only to-night that she asks herself: "Is
Clara present, in the spirit, with our loved and lost ones in the
lonely North? Can mortal vision see the dead and living in the
solitudes of the Frozen Deep?"
Chapter 14.
The night had passed.
Far and near the garden view looked its gayest and brightest in
the light of the noonday sun. The cheering sounds which tell of
life and action were audible all round the villa. From the garden
of the nearest house rose the voices of children at play. Along
the road at the back sounded the roll of wheels, as carts and
carriages passed at intervals. Out on the blue sea, the distant
splash of the paddles, the distant thump of the engines, told
from time to time of the passage of steamers, entering or leaving
the strait between the island and the mainland. In the trees, the
birds sang gayly among the rustling leaves. In the house, the
women-servants were laughing over some jest or story that cheered
them at their work. It was a lively and pleasant time--a bright,
enjoyable day.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|