A while afterward, she suddenly started in her chair, her head raised,
as if listening. The fire burnt as warmly as ever, but Sophie was
trembling incontrollably, and her heart was beating most unmercifully.
She walked quickly and blindly, with outstretched hands, to the window.
This time the ominous board forbore to creak. Its omen was fulfilled.
Without hesitating, she threw up the window, and, unmindful of the
tingling inrush of cold air, she leaned out, and looked down through the
arched window of the porch. The bare vines that struggled across it
afforded no interception to the view of the two figures standing within.
Sophie gazed at them as a bird does at a snake; she could not take her
eyes away; she could not move nor utter a sound. It was like the
oppression and paralysis of a fearful dream. Was she dreaming?
It was a terribly vivid dream, at any rate. She seemed to see one of
the figures--a woman--clasp the man's hand passionately in hers and
speak. The voice was known to her; it was as familiar as her own; but
the words it uttered made her sure she was asleep. Thank God! it wasn't
real. She would wake up in a moment, and shudder to think how ugly a
dream it had been. Oh, if she could only awaken before this conversation
went any further! It was breaking her heart: it was killing her. She had
heard of people who died in their sleep--was it from such dreams as
this?
She seemed to have heard two voices--voices that she loved and knew as
well as her own heart--talking a horrible, unholy jargon about some
purpose--some plan--something that it was a sin even to listen to or
imagine; but, as in a dream, she had no choice but to listen. She tried
to shake off the delusion--to see, to prove that what she saw and heard
was false. But still it lasted, and lasted. Still those wicked sentences
kept creeping into her ears and deadening her heart. O God! would it
never cease--would there never be an end?
At length the end seemed about to come. But, ah! the end was worst of
all. Shame--shame to her that such sinful imaginings should visit her
brain. She saw the figure of the man turn away as if to go; but the
woman caught him by the arm, and lifted her beautiful, guilty face up
toward his as if beseeching him for a parting kiss. She saw him stoop
his dark, bearded head, with a half-impatient gesture, and kiss the
beautiful woman's mouth, then motion her toward the house. "Make haste
and put on your travelling dress," he seemed to say; "I'll walk up the
road a little way and wait for you."
Sophie found power to slip down from the window after that, but she knew
she was dreaming still. She heard a stealthy footstep on the stairs and
along the entry; it seemed to pause, and hesitate a moment at her door;
but then it went on and entered Cornelia's room. If she only could go to
her lover, Sophie thought. If she only could speak to him and feel his
arms around her. And why should she not? he had but just gone up the
road. She would slip out and run after him. It was deadly cold: she was
in her white wedding-dress. Yes; but then it was a dream--nothing but a
dream--no harm could come of it.