'What have I done? what have I done?' she exclaims wildly, as like a lightning flash, a sudden revelation of the possible result of her act that morning comes before her. She has prevented the Leo from going to sea by altering her husband's order; her own meddling fingers have kept back the very aid that might have saved the ship. The Leo is at that moment safely riding at her anchor in Seabright harbour; her captain is sporting himself in delightful ease. But what about the Daring? Where is she?
Even now the pitiless waves may be dashing over her, even now she may be breaking up on the sharp rocks. Perhaps the storm that rages past is bearing on its wild wings the awful death-shrieks of sailors as they go down into the pitiless waters.
Ah, they may be crying for help, that never comes!—help, she has kept back from them, foolishly, wickedly kept back! Souls, precious souls, may be going to their doom, in life's full prime, with unrepented sins on their heads; and she indirectly may be the one who has hurled them to their end. These thoughts rush through Lady Dillworth's mind with a crushing force, and with a vividness that makes her heart bound, her whole frame tremble. In the howling of the wind, as it sobs with wild violence through the trees, she fancies she hears the cries of the sailors writhing in agony amidst the surging waves. She thinks they are calling on her—accusing her, and her brain whirls and her heart beats almost to madness.
'"There is sorrow on the sea; it cannot be quiet." O God! help these poor men in their distress—lay not their death to my charge!' she cries almost aloud, and then she looks up, and sees Liddy Delmere watching her with alarm.
'O Lady Dillworth! what is the matter? How pale and ill you look! Shall I call any one? Shall I get anything?'
'Be quiet, Liddy; I insist. I feel faint; but you need not proclaim the fact to the whole world.'
Katie covers her face with her hands, and stands for a minute trying to recover herself—trying—while the angry wind howls like an avenging spirit in her ears. Presently she looks up: 'I feel better now. What do you want of me, Liddy?'
'Have you forgotten our duet comes on when this chorus is over? Are you well enough to sing?' asks Miss Delmere, as she gazes with amazement at Lady Dillworth's haggard face and startled eyes.
'O yes; I will sing. Don't be uneasy; I shall not break down.' She takes Liddy's arm, and they make their appearance on the stage just in time. Much license has been taken with the score of Lucia di Lammermoor—new songs and duets have been introduced, and it is one of the latter in which Katie is now required to take a part.
With a great effort she composes herself, and begins. As she goes on, her voice regains its rich fullness; no one would suppose such a tempest of agony had so lately swept over her.