The Soldier's Wife — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

/ 60 THE SOLDIER'S WIFF. daughter, If I have, you will see me happy|other—her arms dropped down\istlessly by bet beyond the power of language to describe: if I}side—and she al with a sort: of maniae have not, then need you only remain here long vacancy upon her father. He repeated his enough to receive my curse—and at the same instant that yon door closes behind you as I drive you from my presence, will the report of this weapon sound your father’s death-knell in your ear. There was something awful beyond the pos- sibility of mere verbal narration, in the looks, the language, and the manner of the unser upu- lous man as he thus addressed his almost frenzied daughter. His words came with an overwhelining power upon her, striking her blow upon blow—stunning her in one sense with cousternat ion, so that she remained speech- less—but in another sense, exciting the liveliest aconies in her mind. There, as she knelt at his feet—there, as she was in that supplant osture, her face pale as marble,—she wrung a hands in despair—she longed to give vent to the crucifixion of her anguish in one pene- trating, thrilling, rending scream—but she eould not: her lips were sealed! “Now, Lucey,” said her father, “your deci- slon—what 1s it? Speak: there is no time to lose. Mr. Redburn must not be trifled with.” “ Father—tather—I am half mad!” exclaimed Lucy, starting up to her feet as if suddenly galvanized. “Oh, by the memory of my saint- ed mother, I beseech you not to accomplish this wickedness! No, no: you will not—you eannot. It is too terrible! Oh, if you talk of euicide, it is I who shall become the distracted suicide |” “Girl, no more of this!” ejaculated her father fiercely; and catching her by the wrist, he shook her with brutal violence. “ By Satan, my will shall be done—or I will d> what I have threatened! My word is pledged to Redburn; and if I ever look him in the face again, it shall be in the confidence that my pledge is to be kept.” ‘ Father,” said Lucy, with a look so woe- begone, so ‘fall of an illimitable despair that it would have moved the heart of almost any question demanding her decision, She heard that he spoke—but understood not the; L of his words, His very form grew indistinet before her—the room seemed whirling round+- strange and fantastic shapes appeared to rise up about her—the articles of furniture assumed living forms—and hideous countenanees grin- ned in mockery upon her, that of Bates suddenly appearing in the midst with the same expres- sion of malignant meaning that he had worn when she passed his shop in the morni Again did her father address her, He a vanced close up to her—he took her hand—he pressed it—she knew not what he said—she had lost the memory of the preceding seene— she neither beheld nor understood any thing with distinctness : wide awake. A third time did he speak to her while she was in this condition—and ehe thought that he required some answer: but without knowing to what she was answering, she mechanically murmured, “ Yes.” “Then may heaven bless you, dearest Ley!” were the words which now all in a moment plainly and intelligibly smote upon her ears, Her waking dream vanished—she en T: stood her position in all its frightful realit and she stretched out her hand to hold ber father back as he rushed away from her. The next instant he had quitted the apart ment—and she found herself alone. It was ‘n the enthusiasm of joy and triumph that he had thus sped away to see Gerald Redburn. As a sudden glare of light thrown into ‘a dark room brings forth every object into viv relief, so did an instantaneous clearness arive she was in a dream, though. in Lucy’s mind—and every thought and idea | harbored there, was_in a moment redeemed from confusion and bewilderment. She com- prehended what she had done—that she had ° spoken the fatal yes—and that her father had tess to, signify her assent to the:-loathed and etested object who sought her as his bride. other being in the world, “you are mur dering Oh!-had she then for a siugle instant—and even me—you are murdering me!” “Enough! ‘This must end!” exclaimed Da- vis in a terrible voice: “it has already lasted loo long. How is it to be? Say at once. I will be trifled with no longer. Your decision? Quick, quick—your decision? Talk of mad- uess—it is | who.am well nigh driven to it!” “OQ God; what am 1 to do? what will become of me?”—and again di? Lucy sink down into the chair, horror-strickva, dismayed, yet fren- zed, *° Father, if I say yes, it will be my death—and not only my death, but that of another—of him whom I love—to ‘whom my troth is plighted “ Allude not to that man!” ejaculated Davis, more fiercely even than before. “ You must gay yes—you shall, unless you choose to become my murderess! And it will be parricide, Lucy—parricide, I repeat—the unpardonable erinie |” The unfortunate young woman felt as if her senses were abandoning her. Her hands re- axed tie ¢lasp in which they had held each ir the armas of Frederick Lonsdale! . in the unconsciousness of that moment—proved faithless to her plighted love to Frederick Lonsdale? ‘There was anguish in the thought; and every other consideration vanishing from — her mind, she. rushed from the room. _ She had not taken off her bonnet and shawl on first entering; and thus there was naught to delay her. Down the stairs she precipitated herself—dashed past an astonished waiter who was ascending at the time—and flitted forth from the hotel. Along the street she hurried, reckless. of: the attention which her excited manner and precipitate speed naturally drew upon her; and in a few minutes she gained a more secluded part of the town. There she slackened her pace to recover breath. All ofa sudden an ejaculation of joy fell on her ears; and at the instant she raised her eyes in recog- ni ‘tion of that well-known voice, she was el , ye eae (E(0) Cc