The Fate: A Tale of Stirring Times

by G. P. R. James

Ralph Woodhall lay down to rest--to rest, mark me, I say--not to sleep. Sleep he never calculated upon. His mind was as busy and as active when his head touched the pillow as his body had been during the four or five days preceding. But his body was weary; there was a dull numbness in his limbs, an oppressive weight upon his corporeal energies that pressed them down, and he thought he could find repose, though not slumber. In a moment, however, there came a vacancy of thought--a dead leaden lapse in mind's existence--a space in which intellect and feeling were still and silent. Suddenly the mind or the heart, I know not which, woke up, and the body itself was roused by the start of its companions. He raised himself upon his arm, gazed wildly round upon the darkness, half remembered, half forgot where he was, sunk slowly back upon his pillow, and slept profoundly.

His sleep was long as well as deep. The morning sun rose and shone into the room; the summer birds began their song, and caroled at his window all unheard; his servant came in, gazed at, but would not wake him, and retired, saying to himself, "Would that I could sleep so;" the breakfast table was laid in the small room below; the church clock even struck nine, and Ralph was sleeping still.

It was not exhaustion of body, for he was accustomed to hard and robust exercise, often repeated, long continued; but it was exhaustion of body and mind together.

The immortal spirit, bound up in the fleshy clay, partakes of the infirmity of its fellowship; and that which, liberate from earth, must necessarily be unconscious of weariness or needful of repose, when linked in the bond of life with dust, feels a part of the weight which hangs upon its mortal brother. Both were weary with Ralph Woodhall--both slept. There was an utter vacancy of all things in that dull, leaden repose. There was no movement--no tossing to and fro--no murmuring of the lips--no dream--no thought--no feeling, waking. All was still. The beating of the heart went on--the mere mechanism of life was there: the wheel was not still, the silver chain was not broken; there was existence without life--without the living life, deprived of which existence is but a gap in time.

It was nearly ten when he awoke; but then, the shortened shadow on the floor, the brightness of the sunshine as it streamed through the window with its warm, yellowish, unempurpled light, showed him how long he had slept; and he proceeded to dress himself eagerly and in haste.

As he stood by the window at the toilet table, bestowing no great pains upon his attire--for mind had by this time recovered the full mastery of her mortal ally--he saw a horseman crossing with speed the open space of the park which lay between the house and the little bridge that spanned the river some half a mile further up The man was dressed in the livery of Lady Danvers, which, as most liveries were in those days, was somewhat gay, if not gaudy; and the horse seemed tired enough to require frequently the whip and spur.

Ralph took no great heed, for his mind was busy within its own peculiar sphere of thought, and sent forth few scouts to notice what was passing without. He saw the man gallop up to the terrace and pass round to the back of the house, without any comment, even merely mental. He did not ask himself who he could be, why he rode so fast, or what intelligence he brought. It was but to him that a something had arrived at the mansion--that a horse and man had passed rapidly before his eyes, and that they were gone. He was still absorbed in the thoughts of the preceding day, when a gentle knock at the door roused him, and, turning round, he saw Mr. Drayton entering with some letters in his hand.

"I beg pardon for intruding, sir," said the steward, with a bow of profound respect; "but a servant has brought some letters from my lady, among which is this one for yourself, marked, 'with the utmost speed.' I therefore made bold to break in upon your rest, for your servant told me you were still sleeping."

"I thank you, Mr. Drayton," replied Ralph; "I have a good deal overslept myself. What says your lady?"

"But little to me, sir," replied the steward, "except to give you this letter immediately, and to send the other to Lady Di Fullerton, who often stays here; but I thought this needed immediate notice, and therefore, as I have said, I brought it up."