Sir Robert had sent several messages to his daughter, imploring her to
see him, but in vain--she resolutely refused, wisely dreading the result
of such an interview. "This day and to-morrow is all the time," she
said, "I can call my own, until--for me--time has entered upon eternity.
All I implore then is, that I may be alone, the mistress of myself
during such brief space."
When the sun was set, Barbara entered her room with a slight evening
meal. Her mistress was sitting, or rather lying on a low couch, opposite
a table, upon which stood a small dial, mounted in chased silver,
representing a garland of flowers.
"Lay it down, good girl; I cannot taste it at present. I have been
watching the minute-hand pace round that dial.--Is it, indeed, near
seven? It was an ill thought of the foreign craftsman to set Time amid
roses; he should have placed it among thorns. Is the evening fine?"
"Fine, but yet sober, my lady; the sun has quite set, and the birds are
silent and at roost, except the old blackbird, who whistles late, and
the wakeful robin, who sometimes bandies music with the
nightingale.--Would you like to hear them, madam?"
"Not just now, Barbara: but leave out my hood. Did my father again ask
for me?"
"Not since, mistress. Mr. Fleetword is with him." Barbara left the room.
"I cannot tell why, my lady," she said earnestly to Lady Frances, whom
she met in the vestibule--"I cannot divine the reason, but this bridal
has to me the semblance of a funeral. God shield us all from evil! there
is a cold deathlike chill throughout the house. I heard--(though, my
lady, I do not believe in such superstitions,) but I heard the
death-watch tick--tick--ticking, as plain as I hear the old clock now
chime seven! And I saw--I was wide awake--yet I saw a thin misty
countenance, formed as of the white spray of the salt-sea wave, so
sparkling, so shadowy, yet so clear, come between me and the moonbeams,
and raise its hand thus.--Oh, mercy--mercy--mercy!" she shrieked, so as
to startle the Lady Frances, and then as hastily exclaimed, "La! madam,
to think of the like! if it isn't that little muddy, nasty Crisp, who
has found me out! I will tell you the rest by and by, madam, only I want
to turn this little beast into the shrubbery, that he may find his
master."
At another time Lady Frances would have rallied her for accompanying,
instead of dismissing Crisp to the garden; but a weight of sorrow seemed
also to oppress her. Her usually high spirits were gone, and she made no
observation, but retreated to the library.