Theresa Marchmont | Page 7

quadrangle of the mansion; and as long as daylight lasted she continued to walk there, in order to avoid the solitude of her own dreaded apartment. As she traversed the pavement with hurried steps, she gazed on the huge iron cross, and no longer regarded with indifference the terrific legends attached to it. But at length the closing evening, accompanied by tempestuous winds, compelled her to retire to the house.
Once more she found herself installed for the evening in the abhorred chamber. All was as before--her husband was seated opposite to her in the same chair, by the same lamp-light--the ticking of the time-piece was again painfully audible from the wearisome stillness of the apartment; and her own trembling hands were again lingering over the embroidery-frame from which she dared not lift her eyes. Her heart beat painfully, her breath became oppressed, and she ventured to steal a look at her husband, who to her surprise was regarding her with an air of affectionate interest. Relieved for a moment, she returned to her occupation; but her former terrors soon overcame her. She would have given worlds to escape from that room, from that dwelling, and wandered she cared not how, she knew not wither, so she might be rescued from the sight of that awful figure, from the sound of that dreaded voice.
The conflict in her mind became at length too strong for endurance; and suddenly flinging down her work, she threw herself at her husband's feet, and burying her face in his knees she sobbed aloud; "save me from myself--save me, save me from her!" He raised her gently, and folded her in his arms. "Save thee from whom, my beloved Helen?"
"Greville, believe me or not as thou wilt, but as the Almighty hears and judges me, I have beheld the apparition of thy wife. I saw her freely, distinctly, standing beside thee even where thou sittest; clearly visible as the form of a living being; and she would have spoken, and doubtless revealed some dreadful secret, had not the weakness of my nature refused to support me. Oh! Greville, take me from this room--take me from this house--I am not able to bear the horrible imaginings which have filled my mind since that awful hour. My very brain is maddened--oh! Greville, take me hence."
Even in the agony of her fear, Helen started with delighted surprise to feel the tears of her husband falling on her hand. Yes! he,--the stern Greville, the estranged husband, moved by the deep distress manifested in the appearance of his wife, acknowledged his sympathy by the first tears shed in her presence.
"This is a mere phantasm of the brain," said he at length, attempting to regain his composure; "the coinage of a lively imagination which loves to deceive itself by--but no," continued he, observing her incredulous and agonized expression of countenance, "no, my Helen, I will not longer rack thy generous mind by these sufferings, however bitter the truth may be to utter or to hear. Helen! it was no vision--no idle dream,--Helen, it was a living form, a breathing curse to thee and me! Thou who hast accused me of insensibility to thy charms, and to thine endearing affection, judge of the strength of my love by the labyrinth of sin into which it hath betrayed me. Helen, my wife still lives, and I am not thy lawful husband."
It was many hours before the unfortunate Lady Greville sufficiently recovered her composure to understand and feel the full extent of the fatal intelligence she had received, and the immediate bearing it must have upon her happiness, her rights, and those of her child. As by degrees the full measure of her misery unfolded to her comprehension, she fell into no paroxysm of angry grief; she vented her despair in no revilings against the guilty Greville. Sorrowfully indeed, but calmly, she requested to be made acquainted with the whole extent of her miserable destiny.
"Let me know the worst," said she, "I have been long, too long deceived, and the only mercy you can now bestow upon me is an unreserved and unqualified confidence."
But Lord Greville could not trust himself to make so painful a communication in words, and after passing the night in writing, he delivered to her the following relation:--
LORD GREVILLE'S HISTORY
"I need not dwell upon the occurrences of my childhood, I need not relate the events which rendered my youth equally eventful and distinguished. My early life was passed so entirely in the immediate service of my sovereign, and in participation of the troubles and dangers which disastrous times and a rebellious people heaped upon his head, that the tenor of my life has been as public as his own.
"Yet Helen, forgive me for saying that I cannot even now, in this my