"We have no hope," said Martin; "and you are not wise in coming hither. Yon have surely heard of our misery. Charlotte Clopton is dying. Dying of the plague. The nurse has just caught it of her and sickens too. All have fled from the Hall."
A few moments more, and Shakespeare had sprung up the great staircase, and sought the chamber of the invalid, Martin hastening after him, and in vain urging him not to enter her room. "The disease is of the most malignant character," he said. "The leech hath left the house unable to do us any good. 'Tis but a tempting of Providence to enter the room. I pr'ythee have thought upon your own safety."
"Perish all thoughts of self and safety!" said Shakespeare, dashing his hat upon the floor as he entered the chamber. "O fairest flower," he said, "cut down and blighted in thy budding beauty, do I indeed behold thee again thus—so soon to part with thee for ever?"
He knelt down beside her bed, took her hand, and carried it to his lips.
Her long luxuriant tresses, which had escaped from the ribbon that bound them, covered the white pillow like a cloud, and half-concealed her face. She raised herself as she recognised the voice, and, parting her hair, gazes eagerly in his face. "Thou art come then," she said; "once more come? Oh, blessings on thee for it. I have wished for thee; dreamt of thee; called for thee; and thou art come at last to set mine eye. What happiness to look upon thy face once more—even in death! And yet," she said, as she held him from her, "there is danger in your being here, I heard them whisper to each other of the plague."
"Oh, believe it not!" said Shakespeare; "there is no sign of such disease about thee. Thou wilt live, dearest lady. Cast but from your mind these sad thoughts, and you will yet recover."
"Not so," said Charlotte; "I feel as if I had not many moments on earth, and yet I know I shall not harm thee, for I have beheld the story of thy life in my troubled dreams. I have seen thee unknown, unthought of, unhonoured in the world. And then I saw thee enshrined in such a blaze of glory as no mortal ever before attained on earth:—the wonder of ages to come. Thy very name alone, whispered in thy lowly home, William Shakespeare, will make bearded men weep. Yes," she continued, vehemently, "I beheld thy figure standing upon an eminence so high above thy fellow-mortals, that, though all were striving to ascend towards thee, none could come beyond the plain on which that mountain stood."
The tears fell from the youth's eyes as he buried his face upon the coverlid of the couch, and listened to what he considered the prophetic ravings of delirium; and then he again raised his head and gazed upon her. There were no traces of disease to be observed in that bright form as he did so. The subdued light of the chamber gave her the appearance of a marble monument. In the abandonment of her grief, she had raised herself on one arm, and her beauty seemed even more dazzling.
"'Twas beauty
Too rich for use, for earth too dear."
The livid spots, which had so alarmed the nurse and Martin, had disappeared from her face. Her rounded shoulder and bosom were like the sculptured alabaster—rendered yet more white and polished by the soft, dark tresses, by which they were partially covered.