“Nay, pray God to sleep again,” cried Martha, bending over her and embracing her, and half-turning upon Pierre with a glance of loathing indignation. “In God’s holy name, sir, what may this be? How came you here; accursed!”
“Accursed?—it is well. Is she herself again, Martha?”
“Thou hast somehow murdered her; how then be herself again? My sweet mistress! oh, my young mistress! Tell me! tell me!” and she bent low over her.
Pierre now advanced toward the bed, making a gesture for the maid to leave them; but soon as Lucy re-caught his haggard form, she whisperingly wailed again, “Martha! Martha! drive it away!—there—there! him—him!” and shut her eyes convulsively, with arms abhorrently outstretched.
“Monster! incomprehensible fiend!” cried the anew terror-smitten maid—“depart! See! she dies away at the sight of thee—begone! Wouldst thou murder her afresh? Begone!”
Starched and frozen by his own emotion, Pierre silently turned and quitted the chamber; and heavily descending the stairs, tramped heavily—as a man slowly bearing a great burden—through a long narrow passage leading to a wing in the rear of the cottage, and knocking at Miss Lanyllyn’s door, summoned her to Lucy, who, he briefly said, had fainted. Then, without waiting for any response, left the house, and went directly to the mansion.
III.
“Is my mother up yet?” said he to Dates, whom he met in the hall.
“Not yet, sir;—heavens, sir! are you sick?”