It was two o’clock when I returned to my lodgings; my dinner, just brought in from a neighbouring hotel, smoked on the table; I sat down thinking to eat—had the plate been heapedwith potsherds and broken glass, instead of boiled beef andharicots, I could not have made a more signal failure: appetite had forsaken me.Impatient of seeing food which I could not taste, I put it all aside into a cupboard, and then demanded, “What shall I do till evening?” for before six P.M.it would be vain to seek the Rue Notre Dame aux Neiges; its inhabitant (for me it had but one) was detained by her vocation elsewhere.I walked in the streets of Brussels, and I walked in my own room from two o’clock till six; never once in that space of time did I sit down.I was in my chamber when the last-named hour struck; I had just bathed my face and feverish hands, and was standing near the glass; my cheek was crimson, my eye was flame, still all my features looked quite settled and calm.Descending swiftly the stair and stepping out, I was glad to see Twilight drawing on in clouds; such shade was to me like a grateful screen, and the chill of latter Autumn, breathing in a fitful wind from the north-west, met me as a refreshing coolness.Still I saw it was cold to others, for the women I passed were wrapped in shawls, and the men had their coats buttoned close.
When are we quite happy? Was I so then? No; an urgent and growing dread worried my nerves, and had worried them since the first moment good tidings had reached me.How was Frances? It was ten weeks since I had seen her, six since I had heard from her,or of her.I had answered her letter by a brief note, friendly but calm, in which no mention of continued correspondence or further visits was made.At that hour my bark hung on the topmost curl of a wave of fate, and I knew not on what shoal the onward rush of the billow might hurl it; I would not then attach her destiny to mine by the slightest thread; if doomed to split on the rock, or run a aground on the sand-bank, I was resolved no other vessel should share my disaster: but six weeks was a long time; and could it be that she was still well and doing well? Were not all sages agreed in declaring that happiness finds no climax on earth? Dared I think that but half a street now divided me from the full cup of contentment—the draught drawn from waters said to flow only in heaven?
I was at the door; I entered the quiet house; I mounted the stairs; the lobby was void and still, all the doors closed; I looked for the neat green mat; it lay duly in its place.
“Signal of hope!” I said, and advanced.“But I will be a little calmer; I am not going to rush in, and get up a scene directly.” Forcibly staying my eager step, I paused on the mat.
“What an absolute hush! Is she in? Is anybody in?” I demanded to myself.A little tinkle, as of cinders falling from a grate, replied; a movement—a fire was gently stirred; and the slight rustle of life continuing, a step paced equably backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, in the apartment.Fascinated, I stood, more fixedly fascinated when a voice rewarded the attention of my strained ear—so low, so self-addressed, I never fancied the speaker otherwise than alone; solitude might speak thus in a desert, or in the hall of a forsaken house.
“‘And ne’er but once, my son,’ he said, ‘Was yon dark cavern trod;In persecution’s iron days,
When the land was left by God.From Bewley’s bog, with slaughter red,A wanderer hither drew;
And oft he stopp’d and turn’d his head, As by fits the night-winds blew.
For trampling round by Cheviot-edge Were heard the troopers keen;And frequent from the Whitelaw ridge
The death-shot flash’d between,’” &c.&c.
The old Scotch ballad was partly recited, then dropt; a pause ensued; then another strain followed, in French, of which the purport, translated, ran as follows:—“I gave, at first, attention close; Then interest warm ensued;From interest, as improvement rose, Succeeded gratitude.
Obedience was no effort soon, And labour was no pain;If tired, a word, a glance alone
Would give me strength again.
From others of the studious band, Ere long he singled me;But only by more close demand, And sterner urgency.
The task he from another took, From me he did reject;He would no slight omission brook, And suffer no defect.
If my companions went astray,
He scarce their wanderings blam’d; If I but falter’d in the way,His anger fiercely flam’d.
