“No, no, Martha,” said I, almost instantly recovering my collectedness; for, although of a nervous temperament, I had never been superstitious. “I do not believe in omens. You know I saw, or fancied I saw, this thing before, and nothing followed.”
“The Dutch lady came the next morning,” replied she.
“But surely her coming scarcely deserved such a dreadful warning,” I replied.
“She is a strange woman, my lady,” said Martha; “and she is not gone yet—mark my words.”
“Well, well, Martha,” said I, “I have not wit enough to change your opinions, nor inclination to alter mine; so I will talk no more of the matter. Good-night,” and so I was left to my reflections.
After lying for about an hour awake, I at length fell into a kind of doze; but my imagination was very busy, for I was startled from this unrefreshing sleep by fancying that I heard a voice close to my face exclaim as before,—
“There is blood upon your ladyship’s throat.”
The words were instantly followed by a loud burst of laughter.
Quaking with horror, I awakened, and heard my husband enter the room. Even this was a relief.
Scared as I was, however, by the tricks which my imagination had played me, I preferred remaining silent, and pretending to sleep, to attempting to engage my husband in conversation, for I well knew that his mood was such, that his words would not, in all probability, convey anything that had not better be unsaid and unheard.