To Sir Harry West she would frequently speak of that painful wandering of thought, that want of control over her own mind, which now too often came upon her.
"In those moments," she said one day, "when there is, as it were, a cloud upon me, and all my ideas seem misty and indistinct, the weight of my sorrow is the most burdensome. I cannot refrain from wishing for death; and a voice, like that of a fiend, appears to urge me on to seek the calm and tranquil resting-place, where no tyrant's hand can reach, no persecution trouble my repose. I have only, however, to open the page of this Holy Book, to look into the promises there given, to remember how the only pure and holy One that ever lived and died, suffered without a murmur, and the evil spirit flies, overmatched, and my mind acquires its faculties again. I hope not for life, Sir Harry. I long for death; and have only one wish that I venture to indulge, which is, that I might see once more him whose love has cost me so much misery, though I would not lose that love, if I might win a long life of happiness in exchange."
Sir Harry West made her no reply, but turned the conversation to another theme; and, aided by Ida Mara, who now never left Arabella night nor day, he contrived to wile away another hour of the poor captive's time, without any return of that sad wandering, which she dreaded more herself than even the approach of death. Nevertheless, the old Knight, as he turned him home again, pondered deeply over what she had said, and that night visited several of the most influential personages of the Court, with whom his own high character gave him considerable influence.
Ten days passed afterwards, during which he visited the lady several times, but spoke less of William Seymour than before. Perhaps it was that he saw her strength was now rapidly failing, and feared to touch upon a subject that moved and agitated her much.
The last time he came she was stretched upon a couch, which had been brought into the chamber where she usually sat; and, holding out her hand to him, with a faint smile, she said, "It is coming rapidly, Sir Harry; and this unhappy heart will soon be at peace. I am sure of it, for during the two last days my mind has been quite itself again. The memories of past happiness have come around me sweetly and tenderly, like children round a parent's death-bed; and I am quite prepared to go where they will follow me, and nothing ever take them from me again. Nay, I have made you weep, my friend, and poor Ida, too. I have cost that dear girl many tears, but when I am gone I am sure you will be a father to her.--Is it not so?"
"I will, indeed," answered Sir Harry West; "I owe her far more than that, were it possible to repay the debt."
"There is something more," said Arabella. "When I am dead, Sir Harry, tell my dear husband that I loved him to the last; cut off a lock of my hair with your own hand, and give it to him. It is all that poor Arabella has to send. Tell him that we shall meet hereafter, that I wait for him; and then none shall separate us.--And now, farewell, kind friend, I must not have you stay. I do believe that we shall never meet again; for the impression rests upon my mind, that the sun which sinks to-night will not rise again for me."
[CHAPTER XLV.]
On the morning of a rough and stormy day, a fishing boat, of a large and heavy build, and filled principally with Frenchmen, touched the low beach of the Kentish coast, at the distance of about a mile from Folkstone, near the spot where now stands the pleasant little village of Sandgate. The moment that the boat took ground, a tall and powerful man, habited in dark, but well-fashioned garments, sprang at once in the water, and waded to the shore; then paused for a moment, while one of the fishermen followed him, carrying a small valise, counted out a number of pieces of gold into the man's hand, took the valise from him, and without another word, but "Remember," turned his steps towards the Hythe. Striding on at a rapid pace, he soon reached that place, and paused to look round for an inn. When he found one, he asked for no refreshment, but inquired eagerly, if he could hire or buy a horse. One was without difficulty procured to purchase; an old saddle and bridle were added; and mounting, without exchanging one word more than was necessary with any one, the stranger rode on at a quick pace upon the road to London.
The people of the inn gazed after him, commenting as usual on his demeanour; but whatever were their remarks, he troubled not his mind; and at the fullest speed the beast could put forth, he urged the horse on towards the capital. His eyes, as he rode, were generally bent down upon the ground; and no change in the gloomy expression of his countenance displayed itself, except when the horse slackened his pace, and then he started, as if from a deep reverie, to urge it on as quickly as before. Twice he stopped to give it water, and once to let it feed; but, while he did so, he stood beside it, uttering not a syllable to any one; and the moment the measure of corn was consumed, he sprang upon its back again, and resumed his journey. On Wrotham Heath, the animal's strength began to fail; and, at the village beyond, the traveller inquired if he could buy another horse. But none was to be found till he reached Farningham, where, at a little inn which then stood by the roadside, he obtained a wretched beast, for which he paid whatever was demanded, caused the saddle instantly to be placed upon it, and leaving the other behind, with orders to feed it well till the next day, he again rode on, and pursued his way to London, without having tasted food since he touched the English shore, though nearly twelve hours had elapsed, and the sun had long set. Through the dark and gloomy streets of the capital he took his way without pause or inquiry, till he stopped at the gate of a large house, just beyond the city wall, where he sprang to the ground, and rang the bell.