A Strange Story — Volume 08Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Philosophy
A Strange Story — Volume 08
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
I took the chest from the driver, whose rising anger at being so
imperiously rated in the land of democratic equality was appeased by the
gold which Margrave lavishly flung to him.
"Take care of the poor gentleman, squire," he whispered to me, in the
spontaneous impulse of gratitude, "I fear he will not trouble you long.
He must be monstrous rich. Arrived in a vessel hired all to himself, and
a train of outlandish attendants, whom he has left behind in the town
yonder. May I bait my horses in your stables? They have come a long
way."
I pointed to the neighbouring stables, and the man nodded his thanks,
remounted his box, and drove off.
I returned to Margrave. A faint smile came to his lips as I placed the
chest beside him.
"Ay, ay," he muttered. "Safe! safe! I shall soon be well again,--very
soon! And now I can sleep in peace!"
I led him into an inner room, in which there was a bed. He threw himself
on it with a loud sigh of relief. Soon, half raising himself on his
elbow, he exclaimed, "The chest--bring it hither! I need it always beside
me! There, there! Now for a few hours of sleep; and then, if I can take
food, or some such restoring cordial as your skill may suggest, I shall be
strong enough to talk. We will talk! we will talk!"
His eyes closed heavily as his voice fell into a drowsy mutter: a moment
more and he was asleep.
I watched beside him, in mingled wonder and compassion. Looking into that
face, so altered yet still so young, I could not sternly question what had
been the evil of that mystic life, which seemed now oozing away through
the last sands in the hour-glass. I placed my hand softly on his pulse:
it scarcely beat. I put my ear to his breast, and involuntarily sighed,
as I distinguished in its fluttering heave that dull, dumb sound, in which
the heart seems knelling itself to the greedy grave!
Was this, indeed, the potent magician whom I had so feared!--this the
guide to the Rosicrucian's secret of life's renewal, in whom, but an hour
or two ago, my fancies gulled my credulous trust!
But suddenly, even while thus chiding my wild superstitions, a fear, that
to most would seem scarcely less superstitious, shot across me. Could
Lilian be affected by the near neighbourhood of one to whose magnetic
influence she had once been so strangely subjected? I left Margrave still
sleeping, closed and locked the door of the hut, went back to my dwelling,
and met Amy at the threshold. Her smile was so cheering that I felt at
once relieved.
"Hush!" said the child, putting her finger to her lips, "she is so quiet!
I was coming in search of you, with a message from her."
"From Lilian to me--what! to me!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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