Great Britain -- History -- Commonwealth and Protectorate, 1649-1660 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
The story of Harrison, in his own absolute despite, and notwithstanding
a secret suspicion which he had of trick or connivance, returned on his
mind at this dead and solitary hour. Harrison, he remembered, had
described the vision by a circumstance of its appearance different from
that which his own remark had been calculated to suggest to the mind of
the visionary;—that bloody napkin, always pressed to the side, was then
a circumstance present either to his bodily eye, or to that of his
agitated imagination. Did, then, the murdered revisit the living haunts
of those who had forced them from the stage with all their sins
unaccounted for? And if they did, might not the same permission
authorise other visitations of a similar nature, to warn—to instruct—
to punish? Rash are they, was his conclusion, and credulous, who
receive as truth every tale of the kind; but no less rash may it be, to
limit the power of the Creator over the works which he has made, and to
suppose that, by the permission of the Author of Nature, the laws of
Nature may not, in peculiar cases, and for high purposes, be
temporarily suspended.
While these thoughts passed through Everard’s mind, feelings unknown to
him, even when he stood first on the rough and perilous edge of battle,
gained ground upon him. He feared he knew not what; and where an open
and discernible peril would have drawn out his courage, the absolute
uncertainty of his situation increased his sense of the danger. He felt
an almost irresistible desire to spring from his bed and heap fuel on
the dying embers, expecting by the blaze to see some strange sight in
his chamber. He was also strongly tempted to awaken Wildrake; but
shame, stronger than fear itself, checked these impulses. What! should
it be thought that Markham Everard, held one of the best soldiers who
had drawn a sword in this sad war—Markham Everard, who had obtained
such distinguished rank in the army of the Parliament, though so young
in years, was afraid of remaining by himself in a twilight-room at
midnight? It never should be said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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