 | Randolph |  |
JOHN OMAR TO SARAH RAMSAY.
By heaven, it is true. It is just as I feared. He, against
whom we have plotted—he whom we had be set, like a
wild beast, in the toils—he hath escaped. Escaped! Nay,
that were a trifle; but we are now in his power. Frank
has gone to the south. I am glad of it—glad; for some
blood would be spilt, else. It is just as I feared. Do you
not tremble, Sarah? Or, do you not anticipate the truth?
Have you no chill?—no spasm at the heart? Molton
is the man. Edward Molton—he, whom I could curse!
I—I—I know not what I say. But he is the man that
Juliet loves! How are you, now, Sarah? Hardly had
we despatched the messenger to prevent your arrival,
Molton had seen her. It was only for a moment;—but,
gracious heaven! her whole body was instinct with a new
spirit. She never appeared so touchingly, so delicately
beautiful. Her parted lips—her innocent, clear eyes—
her sweet face, blushing through her tears—her agitation—oh!
I could have fallen on my face, before her.—
Yet, how did he behave?—Listen. It was described
to me, by Frederica; but whether she suspected the truth,
or not, it were impossible to say. She is too generous,
however, to betray it, even if she did. And you, my
dear cousin, you will guard it, as your own honour.—
What an unaccountable creature he is—how immoveable—not
a tear—not one—yet his chest heaved—and the
blood settled in his eyes—and he staggered, when he
touched her hand—yet, not a word—not a look—not a
gesture—betrayed him. Once, while she was speaking
to him, with that serious gentleness of her's, he held his
breath so long, said Frederica, that I thought he would
never breathe again.
He stood before her, as she sat looking out of the window,
like an apparition—uncovered—his eyes cast down,
and his hair strangely disordered.
She lifted her eyes—a faint cry escaped her—and she
would have fallen, but for his encircling arms. Was she
sensible of the touch? Her colour came and went, rapidly;—and,
while his head was turned away, and the big
sweat stood upon his lips, his very lips, Frederica says,
that she saw Juliet open her eyes, with an expression so
tender and happy, that—She stopped there. She
was unwilling to betray her own opinion. They conversed
for a few moments; and he appointed another
hour to see her, when I am to be there, saying, as he departed,
says Frederica, that “there was no hope for either.”
What did he mean? I know not, but I am determined
to be present, and understand the reason of his calling.
Has he come to be forgiven for the—murder, shall I call
it?—no!—it may not be the murder—of William? Or is it
—my hand shakes with the thought—is it to disquiet a
saint, in her last moments, with the remembrance of
something, I know not what, but something, I am sure,
Adieu, till the interview is over!—
| Randolph | |