So fifteen days elapsed. On the evening of the fifteenth, Marie,
feeling unusually exhausted, had sunk down, without disrobing, on her
couch, and at length fell into a slumber so deep and calm, that her
guardians, fearing to disturb it, and aware that her dress was so
loose and light, it could not annoy her, retired softly to their own
chamber without arousing her. How many hours this lethargic sleep
lasted, Marie knew not, but was at length broken by a dream of terror,
and so unusually vivid, that its impression lasted even through the
terrible reality which it heralded. She beheld Arthur Stanley on the
scaffold about to receive the sentence of the law--the block, the axe,
the executioner with his arm raised, and apparently already deluged
in blood--the gaping crowds--all the fearful appurtenances of an
execution were distinctly traced, and she thought she sprung towards
Stanley, who clasped her in his arms, and the executioner, instead of
endeavoring to part them, smiled grimly as rejoicing in having two
victims instead of one; and as he smiled, the countenance seemed to
change from being entirely unknown to the sneering features of the
hated Don Luis Garcia. She seemed to cling yet closer to Stanley,
and knelt with, him to receive the blow; when, at that moment, the
scaffold shook violently, as by the shock of an earthquake, a dark
chashm yawned beneath their feet, in the centre of which stood the
spectral figure of her husband, his countenance ghastly and stern, and
his arm upraised as beckoning her to join him.
Pages:
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274