The Young Apprentice; or, The Watch-Words of Old London — page 116: what you’re looking at

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

THE WATCHWORDS OF OLD LONDON. \ Tirst of all he teheld the old house by the river where he had first met Lord Raymond. Then this faded away, and changed, as in a dissolving view, to an old mansion in the country. A wild, weird place it was, situated in a hollow, and surrounded by a wall, as it were, of verdure, Passing along a narrow dark path—led by some invisible guide—Harold found himself at length within the building. 6 fell over an obstacle at the doorway. It was a dead body! He fell again as he entered the first room, The second obstacle was the same as the first. Shuddering with a sickening feeling of disgust and horror, he strove to turn back, but an irresistible power detained him. Then he saw that on the floor of the black tapeatried room, and on the benches round, and on a dais at the end of it, were lying the corpses of men and women, their faces and bodies blackened as with the plague, And on the raised seat sat the body of one whom in life he well knew. It was that of Lord Raymond. Suddenly, as he wae gazing in awe at the still forms around him, there was a clang as of many trampeta, and the bodies sprang up into life. What followed he could not remember exactly when he woke. All he knew was that there was a surgin together ef the hitherto inanimate bodies, an that they rushed in a body towards the dais where Lord Raymond sat, looking grim and ghastly, with his set eyes and blackened face, Menace was in their looks and in their cries— muttered, hideous cries, like those of despairing spirits, Then they pounced like birds of prey upon the trembling Lord Raymond, and a darkness fell over all things; and only the gurglings of a dying man were to be heard. Then he woke up with a cry, and found himself in the stillness and gloom of his little chamber, Again he slept, and again with terrible inten- sity the vision recurred to him. Three times he dreamed it; and he only awakened from his vision to find the warm sun of morning streaming over his face. Both Simon Lawleas and Ben Firebrace had been accommodated with beds at the armourer’s. On the following day, the former took his leave. ‘“‘ Harold,” he said, as he went, “I am going away upon a dread and awful mission ; a mission to which I am called by a destiny I cannot resist. Remember, when I am gone, that there are many who watch over yon, and that their guardianship will never bravely and well, as now.” “J shall always strive to do my duty,” re- plied Harold. “I believe it,” said Simon, *“ you have been good and true, Id have behaved No man oou with greater courage than you. But, remember another thing. It is a bad lesson to teach, that of mistrust for every one, but it is well that you should remember that, beyond those who are now your a:sured friends, you should trust no one.” “T am unlikely to trust any one,” said Harold, cease while you behave ‘‘Those whom I have trusted as yet have certainly not deceived me; but I have trusted only those who have been recommended to me by firm and staunch friends.” Simon Lawless smiled. “I suppose,” he said, “that I need not warn you againat Lord Raymond ; there is no fear, I should think, of his being able to over-reach you.” “No,” returned Harold, “he, of all others, is least likely to cause me to betray myself.” That night, after Ben Firebrace had departed, Harold retired early to bed; for, after the stormy scenes he had passed through of late, he was anxious to take the first opportunity of It will be remembered, no doubt, by all my readers, that the bed-chamber overlooked the back yard of the armourer’s house, and was easily accessible, therefore, to any one who chose to glide up from the river, and use one of the ladders which were always standing in the yard. The only difficulty in the way of any one attempting an unlawful entry was the simple fact that the old and clumsily made window frame would be likely to creak and rattle if opened stealthily from without. Harold slept soundly, however. The horrid visions which had disturbed his rest during the preceding night had so exhausted his frame, that he fell into a deep and dreamless slumber the moment that his head touched the pillow, He was awakened, however, suddenly, by feeling a gust of cold air rush across his fore- When he awoke, the room was dark and still, but the window was open, and through it he could see the twinkling lights on the opposite side of the water, and could hear the plash of the river waves against the piles and the stone breakwater. For a moment, Harold was so stunned that he remained sitting up in bed gazing out of the casement, At length, however, when he had recovered the use of his senses, he arose and looked out of the window. His thoughts were still disturbed. Did any new peril threaten him ? Was the terrible dream which he had dreamed the previous night about to realize itself in some fresh calamity ? nicornialy little dangers seemed to threaten Everything without waa calm and beautiful. Below the window the backyard, and the workshop, and the wooden stairs were wrapped in the same quiet shadow as ever, thrown down by the high houses round them. The sky above was blue and starry, only flecked here and there by a few snowy cloudlets, and beneath it the broad river rolled ite dark waves silently towards the ocean. ‘‘Well,” murmured Harold to himself, “I must have been sleepy and opened this window myself. No one seems near,” He was just about to close it and return to bed when a noise near him attracted his atten- oD, » ASE EDOOo eS CO