Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 80: what you’re looking at

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JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. that window where I had seen the pale white face of Annabel: but it was no longer there. Could it have been imagination on my part ?P was it the re- sult of a fevered fancy morbidly excited at the time? Or was it a dread reality—a terrific pre- sage of the untimely fate in store for that fair young creature P I rose up from the ground—I leant against the 67 to my mind, I asked myself whether the whole were not a dream? whether I had quitted my chamber and visited the church at allP I closed my eyes again, and lay quite still to collect my thoughts. It appeared to me that it must have been a dream,—a dream in which the incidents were depicted with a startling vividness, and with- out that dimness and that shadowy mystification wall of the church—I pressed my hands to my , throbbing brows, and endeavoured to steady my ideas. I grew calmer :—not that I could fling off the dread superstitious impressions which either the real or the ideal sight of that face had left upon my mind; but I said to myself, “If it be the will of Providence that Annabel is to be taken away, it is doubtless for the wisest and the holiest of pur- poses—perhaps to save her from plunging still more deeply down into the vortex of guilt, and losing all her angel-beauty in the pollutions of utter degradation. For myself, I know not whe- ther I have committed a dread impiety in coming hither this night for the purpose of looking into the future: but I feel not as if I had committed a crime. If I have, sincere shall be my repent- ance !” Having thus silently spoken within the depths of my own heart, I moved away from the spot; and was retracing my steps through the church- yard, when I suddenly beheld a black object in human shape moving amongst the graves and the tombstones. I stopped short: again was I seized with a cold terror ;—but as the shape became more distinctly visible, a suspicion of the truth flashed to my mind, fraught with a sensation of infinite relief. Keeping myself in the distance, and screened from view, I observed the direction which that af- flicted creature took. For it was Kate Allen, ap- parelled in her mourning garb, visiting at that mid- nicht hour the grave of her lover! How I longed to hasten forward and minister consolations to the afflicted being !—but her’s was a grief beyond the reach of such solace, and likewise too holy to be intruded upon. Issuing forth from the church- yard, unperceived by her, I took the path home- ward. My reflections during this walk were filled with a superstitious awe—a mysterious solemnity —the nature and depth of which I never can forget. The longer I meditated upon the sight that I had geen through the diamond-shaped panes of the church-window, the less inclined was I to attribute it to a morbid imagination—but the more inclined to invest it with the terrible certainty of truth. At length I experienced some sort of relief in tears, as looking back for comparatively a few short months, I thought of Annabel as I had then known her— pure and chaste, etherealized with innocence, and haying the prospect of a long life; and from this picture turned my mental vision upon her position now—so changed, so altered—alas, how much !— and with her days, perhaps her very hours num- bered ! I succeeded in re-entering the Hall and regain- ing my chamber without the slightest difficulty and without disturbing a soul. I feared, as I sought my couch, that I should not be enabled to sleep: but scarcely had my head touched the pillow, when slumber stole rapidly upon me; and when I awoke at about seven o’clock, 1 did not remember that my dreams had been disagreeable. But then, as the tremendous incident of midnight flashed back —S”? ON mr | eet ae so generally hanging around the circumstances which fill the visions of the night. But, ah! were there not the means of clearing up all doubts at once? Yes: and leaping forth from the bed, I proceeded to examine my garments. They boro upon them the unmistakable evidences of having come in contact with the earth and the grass of the churchyard: they proved that I must indeed have lain upon the ground! It was impossible any longer to feel uncertain on the subject: it was no dream—it was a reality. But now I felt that I had done wrong to indulge the morbid feeling of curiosity which had led me to the church and put to the test the preternatural belief asso- ciating itself with the hour of midnight on Mid- summer’s Eve. I solemnly vowed that I would not again pore over those volumes of ghostly appa- ritions and superstitious warnings, which for three weeks past had been my study: for the conviction was strong in my mind, that if I persisted in such a course, my imagination would become gloomily diseased—my fancy morbidly desponding. Andla mere boy of just sixteen! Oh, I was too young to fall into such a deplorable mental condition—a condition the bare idea of which sent a chill shud- dering throughout my entire frame! But did I need any farther proof that my visit to the churchyard was no dream? If 50, this proof appeared to be furnished by a very lament- able and affecting piece of intelligence which reached the Hall in the course of the day. It was that poor Kate Allen had been found, at an early hour in the morning, stretched lifeless upon the grave of her deceased lover. She was com- pletely cold when thus discovered by some la- bourers proceeding to their work; and it was evident that life had been extinct for some hours. Her heart had broken! Poor creature !—doubtless I was the last person who had seen her alive: but little did I suspect at the time that she was thus seeking the grave of her lover to render up her own existence on the turf so recently placed upon the spot where he slumbered in death! I was much affected when the sequel of that tragic episode thus reached my ears: but, for obvious reasons, I spoke not a word which might lead any of my fellow-servants to suppose that I had seen the unfortunate young woman in the last hour of her life. Three weeks passed away: it was now the middle of July—and the rumour began to cir- culate amongst the domestics that the Hon. Walter Ravenshill was not, after all, going to marry Miss Boustead— but that he had proposed to the daughter of a wealthy London citizen, and was accepted by the young lady and her parents. It seemed that Charles Linton, having occasion to write to the steward of his lordship’s household at the Hall, had thus slightly glanced at these cir- cumstances. A couple of days afterwards I my- self received a letter from Charles,—in which he assured me that he had often thought of me during rr Se HOOKS (C@) im