Eugene Aram — CompleteLytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
Eugene Aram — Complete
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Aram, Eugene, 1704-1759 -- Fiction
The night had now, indeed, suddenly changed its aspect; the rain
descended in torrents, even more impetuously than on the former night,
while the thunder burst over their very heads, as they wound upward
through the brake. With every instant, the lightning broke from the
riven chasm of the blackness that seemed suspended as in a solid
substance above, brightened the whole heaven into one livid and terrific
flame, and showed to the two men the faces of each other, rendered
deathlike and ghastly by the glare. Houseman was evidently affected
by the fear that sometimes seizes even the sturdiest criminals, when
exposed to those more fearful phenomena of the Heavens, which seem to
humble into nothing the power and the wrath of man. His teeth chattered,
and he muttered broken words about the peril of wandering near trees
when the lightning was of that forked character, accelerating his
pace at every sentence, and sometimes interrupting himself with an
ejaculation, half oath, half prayer, or a congratulation that the rain
at least diminished the danger. They soon cleared the thicket, and a
few minutes brought them once more to the banks of the stream, and the
increased roar of the cataract. No earthly scene perhaps could surpass
the appalling sublimity of that which they beheld;--every instant the
lightning, which became more and more frequent, converting the black
waters into billows of living fire, or wreathing itself in lurid spires
around the huge crag that now rose in sight; and again, as the thunder
rolled onward, darting its vain fury upon the rushing cataract, and the
tortured breast of the gulf that raved below low. And the sounds that
filled the air were even more fraught with terror and menace than the
scene;--the waving, the groans, the crash of the pines on the hill, the
impetuous force of the rain upon the whirling river, and the everlasting
roar of the cataract, answered anon by the yet more awful voice that
burst above it from the clouds.
They halted while yet sufficiently distant from the cataract to be heard
by each other. “My path,” said Aram, as the lightning now paused upon
the scene, and seemed literally to wrap in a lurid shroud the dark
figure of the Student, as he stood, with his hand calmly raised, and his
cheek pale, but dauntless and composed; “My path now lies yonder: in a
week we shall meet again.”
“By the fiend,” said Houseman, shuddering, “I would not, for a full
hundred, ride alone through the moor you will pass. There stands a
gibbet by the road, on which a parricide was hanged in chains. Pray
Heaven this night be no omen of the success of our present compact!”
“A steady heart, Houseman,” answered Aram, striking into the separate
path, “is its own omen.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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