THE messenger returned not till midnight; what, then, was the consternation of Camilla that he brought no answer! She suspected he had not found the house; she doubted if the letter had been delivered; but he affirmed he had put it into the hands of a maid-servant, though, as it was late, he had come away directly, and not thought of waiting for any answer.
It is not very early in life we learn how little is performed, for which no precaution is taken. Care is the offspring of disappointment; and sorrow and repentance commonly hang upon its first lessons. Unused to transact any sort of business for herself, she had expected, in sending a letter, an answer as a thing of course, and had now only herself to blame for not having ordered him to stay. She consoled herself, however, that she was known to be but nine miles distant from the rectory, and that any commands could be conveyed to her nearly in an hour.
What they might be, became now, therefore, her sole anxiety. Would not her Mother write? After an avowal such as she had made of her desolate, if not dying condition, would she not pardon and embrace her? Was it not even possible she might come herself?
This idea mingled emotions of a contrariety scarcely supportable. ‘O how,’ she cried, ‘shall I see her? Can joy blend with such terrour? Can I wish her approach, yet not dare to meet her eye?-that eye which never yet has looked at me, but to beam with bright kindness!-though a kindness that, even from my childhood, seemed to say, Camilla, be blameless-or you break your Mother’s heart!... my poor unhappy Mother! she has always seemed to have a presentiment, I was born to bring her to sorrow!’
Expectation being now, for this night, wholly dead, the excess of her bodily fatigue urged her to take some repose: but her ever eager imagination made her apprehensive her friends might find her too well, and suspect her representation was but to alarm them into returning kindness. A fourth night, therefore, passed without sleep, or the refreshment of taking off her cloaths; and by the time the morning sun shone in upon her apartment, she was too seriously disordered to make her illness require the aid of fancy. She was full of fever, faint, pallid, weak, and shaken by nervous tremors. ‘I think,’ she cried, ‘I am now certainly going; and never was death so welcomed by one so young. It will end in soft peace my brief, but stormy passage, and I shall owe to its solemn call the sacred blessing of my offended Mother!’
Tranquillised by this hope, and this idea, she now lost all sufferings but those of disease: her mind grew calm, her spirits serene: all fears gave way to the certainty of soothing kindness-all grief was buried in the solemnity of expected dissolution.
But this composure outlived not the first hours of the morning; as they vainly advanced, producing no loved presence, no letter, no summons; solicitude revived, disappointment sunk her heart, and dread preyed again upon her nerves. She started at every sound; every breath of wind seemed portentous; she listened upon the stairs; she dragged her feeble limbs to the parlour, to be nearer at hand; she forced them back again to her bed-room, to strain her aching eyes out of the window; but still no voice demanded her, and no person approached.
Peggy, who repeatedly came to tell her the hour, now assured her it was dinner time: unable to eat, she was heedless of the hint this conveyed, and it obtained from her no orders, till Peggy gave her innocently to understand the expectations of her host and hostess; but when, at five o’clock, the table was served, all force and courage forsook her. To be left thus to herself, when her situation was known; to be abandoned at an inn where she had confessed she thought herself dying; ‘My Mother,’ she cried, ‘cannot forgive me! my Father himself deserts me! O Edgar! you did well to fly so unhallowed a connexion!’
She left her dinner for Peggy, and crawling up stairs, cast herself upon the bed, with a desperate supplication she might rise from it no more. ‘The time,’ cried she, ‘is past for consolation, and dead for hope! my parents’ own prayers have been averted, and their prognostics fulfilled. May the dread forfeiture, said my dearest Father, not extend through my daughters!–Alas! Lionel himself has not brought upon him a disgrace such as I have done!–May Heaven, said my honoured Mother, spare me evil under your shape at least!-but under that it has come to her the most heavily!’
Dissolving, then, in sorrowing regret, recollections of maternal tenderness bathed her pillow with her tears, and reversing all the inducements to her sad resignation, abolished every wish but to fall again at the parental feet. ‘To see,’ cried she, ‘once more, the dear authors of my being! to receive their forgiveness, their blessing... to view again their honoured countenances!-to hear once more their loved speech... Alas! was it I that fled the voice of my Mother? That voice which, till that moment, had been music to my mind! and never reached my ear, but as the precursor of all kindness! why did I not sooner at once kneel at her feet, and seek my lost path under my first and best guide?’
Shocked and contrite in this tardy view of the step she ought to have taken, she now languished to petition for pardon even for an offence unknown; and rising, took up a pen to relate the whole transaction. But her head was confused, and the attempt shewed her she was more ill than she had even herself suspected. She thought all rapidly advancing, and enthusiastically rejoiced.
Yet a second time she took the pen; but it had not touched the paper, when a buzzing, confused, stifled sort of noise from without drew her to the window.
She then perceived an immense crowd of people approaching slowly, and from a distance, towards the inn.
As they advanced, she was struck to hear no encrease of noise, save from the nearer trampling of feet. No voice was distinguishable; no one spoke louder than the rest; they seemed even to tread the ground with caution. They consisted of labourers, workmen, beggars, women, and children, joined by some accidental passengers: yet the general ‘hum of many’ was all that was heard; they were silent though numerous, solemn though mixt.
As they came near, she thought she perceived something in the midst of them like a bier, and caught a glimpse of a gentleman’s habit. Startled, she drew in; but soon, upon another view, discerned clearly a well-dressed man, stretched out his full length, and apparently dead.
Recoiling, shuddering, she hastily shut the window, ‘Yet why,’ she cried, the next moment, ‘and whence this emotion? Is not death what I am meeting?-seeking?-desiring?-what I court? what I pray for?’
She sighed, walked feebly up and down the room, hard and with effort, and then forced herself again to open the window, determined to contemplate steadily the anticipating object of her fervent demand.
Yet not without severe self-compulsion she flung up again the sash; but when she looked out, the crowd alone remained; the bier was gone.
Whether carried on, or brought into the house, she now wished to know, with some particulars, of whom it might be, and what belonged to so strange and horrible an appearance.
She rang for little Peggy; but Peggy came not. She rang again, but no one answered the bell.
She opened her door, meaning to descend to her little parlour for information; but the murmuring buzz she had before heard upon the road, was now within the house, which seemed filled with people, all busy and occupied, yet speaking low, and appearing to partake of a general awe.
She could not venture to encounter so many spectators; she shut her door, to wait quietly till this first commotion should be passed.
This was not for more than an hour; when observing, from her window, that the crowd was dispersed, she again listened at the door, and found that the general disturbance was succeeded by a stillness the most profound.
She then rang again, and little Peggy appeared, but looking pale and much frightened.
Camilla asked what had been the matter.
‘O ma’am,’ she answered, crying, ‘here’s been murder! A gentleman has been murdered-and nobody knows who he is, nor who has done it!’
She then related that he had been found dead in a wood hard by, and one person calling another, and another, he had been brought to the inn to be owned.
‘And is he here now?’ with an involuntary shudder asked Camilla.
Yes, she answered, but her mistress had ordered her not to own it, for fear of frightening the young lady; and said he would soon be carried away.
The tale was shocking, and, though scarce conscious why, Camilla desired Peggy to stay with her.
The little girl was most willing; but she was presently called down stairs; and Camilla, with strong shame of nameless fears and weak horrour, strove to meditate to some use upon this scene.
But her mind was disturbed, her composure was gone; her thoughts were broken, abrupt, unfixed, and all upon which she could dwell with any steadiness, was the desire of one more appeal to her family, that yet they would consent to see her, if they received it in time; or that they should know in what frame of mind she expired, should it bring them too late.
With infinite difficulty, she then wrote the following lines; every bending down of her head making it ache nearly ............