St. Martin's Eve: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

From Ypres she hastened away to Lille, and there spent a day or two; but she thought she would go back to England. That renowned saint's vigil was dawning now, for this was the ninth. Should she spend the tenth in travelling?--or remain where she was, at rest, until the eleventh? At rest!--while this state of mind was upon her? It were mockery to call it so. Rather let her whirl over the earth night and day, as the fierce raven whirled over the waters on being set loose from the Ark; but not again let her hope for rest!

The tenth day came in, and she was to all appearance calm. But a fit of restlessness came upon her in the course of the morning, and she gave orders to depart at once for a certain town on the coast--a town belonging to France now, but whose population still cling to their Flemish tongue. A steamer was about to leave the port of this town for London that night, and the sudden idea had taken her that she would go by it--to the intense indignation of Prance, who had never in all her life heard of civilized beings crossing the Channel except by the short passage.

They quitted Lille, and arrived at the town about four in the afternoon, putting up at the large hotel. Mrs. Brayford was still in her train: her services had been useful during the recent excited state of Mrs. St. John; but she was not to attend her to England, and here they would part company.

"Will Madame dine in her salon, or at the table-d'hôte?" inquired the head-waiter of the man-servant, in sufficiently plain English.

"At the table-d'hôte, no doubt," was the man's reply, speaking in accordance with his own opinion. "Madame has lost her two children, and is in low spirits, not caring to be much alone. Today is the anniversary of the eldest's death."

"Tiens!" returned the waiter. "Today is the eve of St. Martin. All the children in the town will be gay tonight."

"Yes, it's the eve of St. Martin," assented the servant, paying no attention to the other remark, and not in the least understanding it.

The domestic proved correct in his surmises. At five o'clock, when the bell rang for table-d'hôte, Mrs. Carleton St. John entered the dining-room. Very few were present; all gentlemen, except herself, and mostly pensionnaires; the hotels on the coast are empty at that season. The dinner was excellent, but it did not last long; and the gentlemen, one by one, folded their large serviettes, and quitted the room.

She was seated facing the mantelpiece, its clock in front of her. The hands were approaching six--the very hour when, twelve months before, while she sat in her dining-room at Alnwick, Benja was on fire with none near to rescue him. Nervousness tells in various ways upon the human frame, and it seemed to Mrs. St. John that the striking of the hour would be her own knell. Every symptom of one of those frightful paroxysms was stealing over her, and she dreaded it with an awful dread. As long as the rest of the dinner-guests were present, endurance was possible, though her brain had throbbed, her hands had trembled. But they were gone, those gentlemen. They had gazed on her beauty as she sat before them, and wondered that one so young could be so wan and careworn. A choking sensation oppressed her; her throat seemed to swell with it; and that sure minute-hand grew nearer and nearer. Invalids have strange fancies; and this poor woman was an invalid both in body and mind.

The agitation increased. She glanced round the large space of the darkened room--for the waiter, as was his custom, had put out the side-lamps now that dinner was over--almost believing that she should see Benja. The hands were all-but pointing to the hour; the silence was growing horrible, and she suddenly addressed an observation to the waiter at the sideboard behind her; anything to break it. There was no answer. Mrs. Carleton St. John turned sharply round, and became aware that the man had gone out; that she was alone in that dreary room. Alone! The nervous climax had come; and with a cry of horror, she flew out at the door, and up the broad lighted staircase.