Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 148: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

rr 0 ee a | a. aa aun JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. —- 135 Inasmuch as there was more bustle and activity on the part of Mrs. Pomfret on this fourth day than on the three preceding ones, I suspected that the visitress would come to the house in the course of the approaching night; and when soon after ten o’clock I retired to my chamber as usual, I was tortured with such anxieties—such poignant excruciations of feeling—that it would have been yain to think of rest. Isat up: my room was on the highest storey of the house, the window look- ing upon the street—but with so wide a ledge or cornice just beneath it, that I could not see down upon the pavement. Every time my ear caught the sounds of a vehicle approaching along the street, I listened with the utmost suspense to dis- cover whether it would stop at the doctor’s door. Three or four thus passed—time was going on— midnight was approaching—when at length the sounds of another vehicle reached me. Again I listened; and this time they ceased immediately below. I opened the room-door: I even went partially down the stairs—I heard a low double knock given at the front door—and then footsteps hurrying through the hall. I felt sick at heart: —so unhappy, so wretched, with the frightful mis- givings which haunted me, that I thought I must cry out—or at least rush down to arrive at some certainty as to my fears. But no: I remained where 1 was—transfixed, yet shuddering. Yes— shuddering as if suddenly and all in a moment transferred to the midst of a hyperborean realm of eternal ice! I heard voices speaking in hushed tones: but I could not recognise any one in particular. Then I heard footsteps ascending the first flight of stairs: the outer door of the suite of apartments on the first-floor opened; and when it closed again, I staggered, with reeling brain and wildly palpitating heart, back to my own chamber. There, throwing myself upon the bed, I gave vent to my anguish in floods of tears and passionate sobs. My heart told me that I was now beneath the same roof as Annabel: I felt convinced of it; and I knew that it must be under circumstances of branding shame and dishonour for her! For many along hour that night did I thus abandon myself to the bit- terness of my thoughts,—until grief and despair expended themselves, as it were, with their own violence, leaving me weak, feeble, and exhausted, alike in mind and body: so that when at last I put off my apparel and entered the bed, sleep at once fell upon my eyes. But what dream was it that now followed me in my slumber? Methought that I beheld Annabel standing by my bedside, radiant as I had first seen her nearly two years back, at the age of fifteen, invested with all the charms of beauty in its first virginal blossom. I beheld her with the myriad of ringlets of a golden hue clustering and waving around her exquisitely shaped head—her large azure eyes filled with a modest softness, and beam- ing with the light of innocence—the expression of mingled ingenuousness, simplicity, and serene thoughtfulness upon her countenance—the coral lips slightly apart, yet sufficiently so to afford a glimpse of the pearls within. Yes—lI beheld her as I had first seen her, in all respects the same except with regard to the apparel: for the fanciful nature of my dream clothed her with a seraphic raiment,—azure and white garments investing her form, and displaying the fairy lightness and sylphid symmetry of her shape with a ravishing effect. The undulations of the bust—the slope of the shoulders—the slenderness of the waist—and the lithe willowy elasticity of the figure, were all thus exquisitely defined—thus charmingly outlined; and she wore the semblance of a guardian angel as she appeared to be standing by my couch. Me- thought that I stretched out my arms towards her: but that movement on my part dissolved the spell of the delicious dream: the bright apparition vanished—and quick as incidents can alone succeed each other in a vision of the night, was another scene conjured up tomy view. For now I fancied that I was in the churchyard of Charlton village— that 1 was gazing in at the window of the sacred fane—that the iron din of the clock, clanging in my ear, was proclaiming the hour of midnight— and that all in a moment I beheld the form of Annabel, clad in the garments of the grave, pass- ing down the aisle. the church, silvery and cold—Oh, so cold!— methought it struck like ice-shafts to the very marrow of my bones; so that I shuddered and shivered in my very dream. Then towards me was turned the countenance of that white form—a countenance pale as the face of death; and with a convulsing start and a ery of horror I awoke. That I did thus start, and that I did thus give give vent to a cry, I well knew so soon as I was enabled to collect my-ideas: for I found myself still shuddering—and the door opening hurriedly, Philip the groom, who slept in the next chamber to me, rushed in, asking me what was the matter, that I had called out so loudly? I told him—and it was indeed the truth—that I had just awakened from the midst of an unpleasant dream. This explanation, which of course satisfied him, was but too well corroborated by my affrighted and almost agonizing looks. For when he had retired, and I sprang out of bed and caught a glimpse of my features in the glass, I recoiled from the reflection of my own face. I was compelled to sit down, and exert all my mental energies in order to regain a degree of composure: for that dream struck me as being fearfully ominous. This was the beginning of June: in three weeks more it would be Mid- summer’s Eve again: and when the clock should strike twelve on that night, the year would be completed since the memorable date when either the freak of a morbid fancy or else a terrible pre- terhuman reality, had shown me the image of An- nabel in the aisle of Charlton church. CHAPTER XXIxX, MIDSUMMERB’S EVE AGAIN. I FELT very ill for all the rest of that day; and when my fellow-servants noticed my appearance, I accounted for it by stating that I had passed a very bad night, which was troubled by sad dream. —a circumstance which Philip at once undertook to corroborate. How I longed to ask Jane, the Private Parlour-maid, for some particulars relative to the personal appearance of the new occupant of the first-floor apartments ; but I dared not :—and even if I had, she would not have answered my ee ee eee el The moonlight poured into — cS (C(O) im