All these remembrances, suggested by the sting of the still unhealed sword-wound, as they came simultaneously rolling over his soul, swept it clear of every thought of triumph; and, despite the success of his strategy, he re-entered the park of Sir Marmaduke Wade, as heavy in heart, and perhaps poorer in hope, than any tramping mendicant that had ever trodden its tree-shaded avenues.
He knew the situation of Marion’s sleeping chamber. He had made it his business to ascertain that. He gazed upon the window as he rode forward. He fancied he saw a form receding behind the curtain, like some white nymph dissolving herself into the world of ether.
He checked his steed; and for a long time kept his eyes fixed upon the casement: but nothing appeared to impart consolation. There was no light in the chamber; the cold glitter of the glass was in consonance with the chill that had crept over his spirits; and he moved on, convinced that his imagination had been mocking him.
And yet it was not so. It was a real form, and no illusion, that he had seen receding from the window—the form of Marion Wade, that more than once had appeared there since his departure.
The lamp, so opportunely extinguished, had not been re-lit. The cousins, groping their way through the darkness, had betaken themselves to bed.
What else could they do? Even though what they had seen might forbode evil to some one, what power had they to avert it?
Had there been a certainty of danger, it is true,—and to him who was the chief subject of her apprehensions,—Marion Wade could not have gone tranquilly to sleep.
Neither did she: for, although the midnight excursion of the cuirassier captain and his comet might have no serious significance, coupled with the presentiment from which she was already suffering, she could not help fancying that it had.
The hour was too late for an adventure, either of gaiety or gallantry, in a rural neighbourhood, where all the world—even the wicked—should have long ago retired to rest.
For more than an hour the cousins had lain side by side—conferring on the incident that had so unexpectedly transpired. Of other confidences they had before unbosomed themselves—though much of what they intended to have said remained unspoken: on account of the distraction caused to their thoughts by this new circumstance.