The maiden’s brain reeled, as these thoughts flashed through it;—and at this moment, when her senses appeared to be leaving her, the clock of Christ Church, in the Blackfriars-road, proclaimed the hour of one!
The sound came booming—rolling—vibrating through the air, like a solemn warning: at least, so it seemed to the disordered fancy of Agnes Vernon;—and, with feelings worked up to an intolerable pitch, she leapt from her couch.
To obtain a light was an easy matter—for the necessary materials were at hand; and when the flame burst from the tip of the lucifer match, Agnes cast a hurried and affrighted glance around, as if she dreaded to meet some hideous countenance or horrible form in the chamber. Not that she was naturally timid: no—far from it;—her very innocence and purity rendered her courageous on ordinary occasions. But she was now under the influence of emotions powerfully wrung—of feelings strained to an unusual tension;—and she had no control over her imagination, which was disordered and excited.
One idea dominated all the rest. This was to escape from the house—to escape, at any hazard and at all risks. Not for worlds, she thought, could she return to that bed where such distressing visions had rent her soul;—and she could not pass the rest of the night alone, and in a strange place. No: she must return to the cottage—retrace her way to the home which her father had provided for her—and endeavour to reach that friendly threshold in time to prevent Mrs. Gifford from transmitting to her sire the news of her disobedience.
But her mother! Oh! she should see that parent again—she would explain everything—and perhaps arrangements might be made to suit the views and accomplish the happiness of all! In the mean time, however, she must escape—she must return home,—she could not endure the idea of remaining another hour—no—nor even a minute longer than was necessary—in that stranger-dwelling!
With lightning speed did all these thoughts,—or rather glimpses of thoughts—for they were too brief, too fleetingly vivid, to deserve the name of reflections—pass through the maiden’s mind, as she threw on her apparel with a congenial haste; and in three minutes she was dressed. Her bonnet was in the parlour below: but that she could take on her way out of the house—or she cared not if she did not find it at all. She would escape in any case, and at all events; and if she could not find a vehicle to convey her home—she would walk, although she might have to ask her way at every step. For Agnes had worked herself up to a pitch of desperation: a fearful panic was upon her;—she knew not, neither did she pause to ask in her own soul, why she longed so ardently to fly from that house:—an irresistible and almost incomprehensible influence urged her on—and the hurry of her actions was in accordance with the hurry of her brain.
Her hair was flowing over her shoulders: she just waited a moment—a single moment, to fasten it up in a large knot behind; and then, taking the light in her hand, she stole noiselessly down the stairs.
A profound silence—a silence which her footsteps disturbed not—reigned throughout the house.
All, save the affrighted—half-maddened girl, slept.
She gained the hall—she endeavoured to enter the parlour to procure her bonnet: but the door was closed—and she now remembered that the elder Miss Theobald had taken the key with her when they had all quitted that room for the night.