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Words: 17542 in 7 pages
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Edition: 10
I go, the bride of Acheron.--SOPH. /Antig./
These things are in the Future.--/Ib./ 1333.
"I doubt he will be dead or ere I come."--/King John/.
IT was a fine afternoon in December, when Lumley Ferrers turned from Lord Saxingham's door. The knockers were muffled--the windows on the third story were partially closed. There was sickness in that house.
Wan, haggard, almost spectral, his hat over his brows, his dress neglected, his air reckless and fierce, Cesarini crossed the way, and thus accosted Lumley:
"We have murdered her, Ferrers; and her ghost will haunt us to our dying day!"
"Talk prose; you know I am no poet. What do you mean?"
"She is worse to-day," groaned Cesarini, in a hollow voice. "I wander like a lost spirit round the house; I question all who come from it. Tell me--oh, tell me, is there hope?"
"I do, indeed, trust so," replied Ferrers, fervently. "The illness has only of late assumed an alarming appearance. At first it was merely a severe cold, caught by imprudent exposure one rainy night. Now they fear it has settled on the lungs; but if we could get her abroad, all might be well."
"You think so, honestly?"
"I do. Courage, my friend; do not reproach yourself; it has nothing to do with us. She was taken ill of a cold, not of a letter, man!"
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