The crowd was excessive--a drawing-room had not been held for a long
time, and all who were anxious to bask in the smile of royalty,
hastened thither. Aubrey was there with his sister. While he was
standing in a corner by himself, heedless of all around him, engaged
in the remembrance that the first time he had seen Lord Ruthven was in
that very place--he felt himself suddenly seized by the arm, and a
voice he recognized too well, sounded in his ear--"Remember your
oath." He had hardly courage to turn, fearful of seeing a spectre
that would blast him, when he perceived, at a little distance, the
same figure which had attracted his notice on this spot upon his first
entry into society. He gazed till his limbs almost refusing to bear
their weight, he was obliged to take the arm of a friend, and forcing
a passage through the crowd, he threw himself into his carriage, and
was driven home. He paced the room with hurried steps, and fixed his
hands upon his head, as if he were afraid his thoughts were bursting
from his brain. Lord Ruthven again before him--circumstances started
up in dreadful array--the dagger--his oath.--He roused himself, he
could not believe it possible--the dead rise again!--He thought his
imagination had conjured up the image his mind was resting upon. It
was impossible that it could be real--he determined, therefore, to
go again into society; for though he attempted to ask concerning Lord
Ruthven, the name hung upon his lips, and he could not succeed in
gaining information. He went a few nights after with his sister to the
assembly of a near relation. Leaving her under the protection of a
matron, he retired into a recess, and there gave himself up to his own
devouring thoughts. Perceiving, at last, that many were leaving, he
roused himself, and entering another room, found his sister surrounded
by several, apparently in earnest conversation; he attempted to pass
and get near her, when one, whom he requested to move, turned round,
and revealed to him those features he most abhorred. He sprang
forward, seized his sister's arm, and, with hurried step, forced her
towards the street: at the door he found himself impeded by the crowd
of servants who were waiting for their lords; and while he was engaged
in passing them, he again heard that voice whisper close to
him--"Remember your oath!"--He did not dare to turn, but, hurrying his
sister, soon reached home.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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