"I do not believe in a future state. Let that answer you."
"Do you never fear the dark?" returned Mathews, glancing stealthily around. "Never feel that eyes are looking upon you—cold, glassy eyes, that peer into your very soul—eyes which are not of this world, and which no other eyes can see? Snuff the candles, Mary. The room looks as dismal as a vault."
Godfrey burst into a loud laugh. "If I were troubled with such ocular demonstrations I would wear spectacles. By Jove! Bill Mathews, waking or sleeping, I never was haunted by an evil spirit worse than yourself. But here's Skinner at last! Fetch a bottle of brandy and some glasses to yon empty table, Mary. I must try to win back from him what I lost last night."
CHAPTER XVII.
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Oh! speak to me of her I love, And I shall think I hear The voice whose melting tones, above All music, charms mine ear.—S.M. |
Whilst Godfrey Hurdlestone was rapidly traversing the broad road that leads down to the gates of death, Anthony was regaining his peace of mind in the quiet abode of domestic love. Day after day the young cousins whiled away the charmed hours in delightful converse. They wandered hand in hand through green quiet lanes, and along sunny paths, talking of the beloved. Clary felt no jealous envy mar the harmony of her dove-like soul, as she listened to Anthony's rapturous details of the hours he had spent with Juliet, his poetical descriptions of her lovely countenance and easy figure. Nay, she often pointed out graces which he had omitted, and repeated, with her musical voice, sweet strains of song by her young friend, to him unknown.
Was there no danger in this intercourse? Clarissa Wildegrave felt none. In her young heart's simplicity, she dreamed not of the subtle essence which unites kindred spirits. She never asked herself why she loved to find the calm noble-looking youth for ever at her side; why she prized the flowers he gathered, and loved the songs he loved; why the sound of his approaching steps sent the quick blood glowing to her pallid cheek, and lighted up those thoughtful dreamy eyes with a brilliancy which fell with the serene lustre of moon or star-light upon the heart of her cousin—to him as holy and as pure.
She loved to talk of Juliet, for it brought Anthony nearer. She loved to praise her, for it called up a smile upon his melancholy face; the expression of his brow became less stern, and his glance met hers, full of grateful tenderness. She loved to see her own girlish face reflected in the dark depths of those beautiful eyes, nor knew that the mysterious fire they kindled in her breast was destined to consume her young heart, and make it the sepulchre of her new-born affections.