Securing his home, he looked up at the house with wistful eyes, and saw
that the solitary light still burned in her chamber. It struck him
now how very imprudent it was to keep that lamp burning; for if Count
L'Estrange saw it, it was all up with Leoline--and there was even
more to be dreaded from him than from the earl. How was he to find
out whether that illuminated chamber had a tenant or not? Certainly,
standing there staring till doomsday would not do it; and there seemed
but two ways, that of entering the house at once or arousing the man.
But the man was sleeping so soundly that it seemed a pity to awake
him for a trifle; and, after all, there could be no great harm or
indiscretion in his entering to see if his bride was safe. Probably
Leoline was asleep, and would know nothing about it; or, even were she
wide awake, and watchful, she was altogether too sensible a girl to
be displeased at his anxiety about her. If she were still awake, and
waiting for day-dawn, he resolved to remain with her and keep her from
feeling lonesome until that time came--if she were asleep, he would
steal out softly again, and keep guard at her door until morning.
Full of these praiseworthy resolutions, he tried the handle of the
door, half expecting to find it locked, and himself obliged to effect
an entrance through the window; but no, it yielded to his touch, and
he went in. Hall and staircase were intensely dark, but he knew his
way without a pilot this time, and steered clear of all shoals and
quicksands, through the hall and up the stairs.
The door of the lighted room--Leoline's room--lay wide open, and he
paused on the threshold to reconnoitre. He had gone softly for fear of
startling her, and now, with the same tender caution, he glanced
round the room. The lamp burned on the dainty dressing table, where
undisturbed lay jewels, perfume bottles and other knickknacks. The
cithern lay unmolested on the couch, the rich curtains were drawn;
everything was as he had left it last--everything, but the pretty pink
figure, with drooping eyes, and pearls in the waves of her rich, black
hair. He looked round for the things she had worn, hoping she had taken
them off and retired to rest, but they were not to be seen; and with a
cold sinking of the heart, he went noiselessly across the room, and
to the bed. It was empty, and showed no trace of having been otherwise
since he and the pest-cart driver had borne from it the apparently
lifeless form of Leoline.
Yes, she was gone; and Sir Norman turned for a moment so sick with utter
dread, that he leaned against one of the tall carved posts, and hated
himself for having left her with a heartlessness that his worst enemy
could not have surpassed. Then aroused into new and spasmodic energy by
the exigency of the case, he seized the lamp, and going out to the hall,
made the house ring from basement to attic with her name. No reply, but
that hollow, melancholy echo that sounds so lugubriously through empty
houses, was returned; and he jumped down stairs with an impetuous rush,
flinging back every door in the hall below with a crash, and flying
wildly from room to room. In solemn grim repose they lay; but none of
them held the bright figure in rose-satin he sought. And he left them in
despair, and went back to her chamber again.