The Chain of Destiny - Bram Stoker (the little red hen read aloud .TXT) 📗

at the night

view. Here we were quite removed from observation, as the heavy

window curtains completely covered the recess, and almost

isolated us from the rest of the company as perfectly as if

we were in a separate chamber. I proceeded at once to broach the

subject for which I had sought the interview; for I feared lest

contact with the lively company of the drawingroom would do away

with my present fears, and so breakdown the only barrier that

stood between her and Fate.

 

“Miss Fothering, do you ever dream?”

 

“Oh, yes, often. But I generally find that my dreams are most

ridiculous.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Well, you see, that no matter whether they are good or bad

they appear real and coherent whilst I am dreaming them; but

when I wake I find them unreal and incoherent, when I remember

them at all. They are, in fact, mere disconnected nonsense.”

 

“Are you fond of dreams?”

 

“Of course I am. I delight in them, for whether they are sense

or gibberish when you wake, they are real whilst you are asleep.”

 

“Do you believe in dreams?”

 

“Indeed, Mr. Stanford, I do not.”

 

“Do you like hearing them told?”

 

“I do, very much, when they are worth telling. Have you been

dreaming anything? If you have, do tell it to me.”

 

“I will be glad to do so. It is about a dream which I had that

concerns you, that I came here to tell you.”

 

“About me. Oh, how nice. Do, go on.”

 

I told her all my dream, after calling her attention to our

conversation in the boudoir as a means of introducing the subject.

I did not attempt to heighten the effect in any way or to draw any

inferences. I tried to suppress my own emotion and merely to let

the facts speak for themselves. She listened with great eagerness,

but, as far as I could see, without a particle of either fear or

belief in the dream as a warning. When I had finished she laughed

a quiet, soft laugh, and said—

 

“That is delicious. And was I really the girl that you saw

afraid of ghosts? If papa heard of such a thing as that even in

a dream what a lecture he would give me! I wish I could dream

anything like that.”

 

“Take care,” said I, “you might find it too awful. It might

indeed prove the fulfilling of the ban which we saw in the legend

in the old book, and which you heard from your aunt.”

 

She laughed musically again, and shook her head at me wisely

and warningly.

 

“Oh, pray do not talk nonsense and try to frighten me—for I

warn you that you will not succeed.”

 

“I assure you on my honour, Miss Fothering, that I was never

more in earnest in my whole life.”

 

“Do you not think that we had better go into the room?” said

she, after a few moment’s pause.

 

“Stay just a moment, I entreat you,” said I. “What I say is

true. I am really in earnest.”

 

“Oh, pray forgive me if what I said led you to believe that I

doubted your word. It was merely your inference which I disagreed

with. I thought you had been jesting to try and frighten me.”

 

“Miss Fothering, I would not presume to take such a liberty.

But I am glad that you trust me. May I venture to ask you a favour?

Will you promise me one thing?”

 

Her answer was characteristic—

 

“No. What is it?”

 

“That you will not be frightened at anything which may take

place to-night?”

 

She laughed softly again.

 

“I do not intend to be. But is that all?”

 

“Yes, Miss Fothering, that is all; but I want to be assured

that you will not be alarmed—that you will be prepared for anything

which may happen. I have a horrid foreboding of evil—some evil that

I dread to think of—and it will be a great comfort to me if you

will do one thing.”

 

“Oh, nonsense. Oh, well, if you really wish it I will tell you

if I will do it when I hear what it is.”

 

Her levity was all gone when she saw how terribly in earnest

I was. She looked at me boldly and fearlessly, but with a tender,

half-pitying glance as if conscious of the possession of strength

superior to mine. Her fearlessness was in her free, independent

attitude, but her pity was in her eyes. I went on—

 

“Miss Fothering, the worst part of my dream was seeing the

look of agony on the face of the girl when she looked round and

found herself alone. Will you take some token and keep it with

you till morning to remind you, in case anything should happen,

that you are not alone—that there is one thinking of you, and

one human intelligence awake for you, though all the rest of the

world should be asleep or dead?”

 

In my excitement I spoke with fervour, for the possibility of

her enduring the horror which had assailed me seemed to be growing

more and more each instant. At times since that awful night I had

disbelieved the existence of the warning, but when I thought of it

by night I could not but believe, for the very air in the darkness

seemed to be peopled by phantoms to my fevered imagination. My

belief had been perfected to-night by the horror of the yew walk,

and all the sombre, ghostly thoughts that had arisen amid its

gloom.

 

There was a short pause. Miss Fothering leaned on the edge

of the window, looking out at the dark, moonless sky. At length

she turned and said to me, with some hesitation, “But really, Mr.

Stanford, I do not like doing anything from fear of supernatural

things, or from a belief in them. What you want me to do is so

simple a thing in itself that I would not hesitate a moment to

do it, but that papa has always taught me to believe that such

occurrences as you seem to dread are quite impossible, and I

know that he would be very much displeased if any act of mine

showed a belief in them.”

 

“Miss Fothering, I honestly think that there is not a man

living who would wish less than I would to see you or anyone else

disobeying a father either in word or spirit, and more particularly

when that father is a clergyman; but I entreat you to gratify me on

this one point. It cannot do you any harm; and I assure you that if

you do not I will be inexpressibly miserable. I have endured the

greatest tortures of suspense for the last three days, and to-night

I feel a nervous horror of which words can give you no conception.

I know that I have not the smallest right to make the request, and

no reason for doing it except that I was fortunate, or unfortunate,

enough to get the warning. I apologise most sincerely for the great

liberty which I have taken, but believe me that I act with the best

intentions.”

 

My excitement was so great that my knees were trembling, and

the large drops of perspiration rolling down my face.

 

There was a long pause, and I had almost made up my mind for

a refusal of my request when my companion spoke again.

 

“Mr. Stanford, on that plea alone I will grant your request.

I can see that for some reason which I cannot quite comprehend you

are deeply moved; and that I may be the means of saving pain to any

one, I will do what you ask. Just please to state what you wish me

to do.”

 

I thought from her manner that she was offended with me; however

I explained my purpose:

 

“I want you to keep about you, when you go to bed, some token

which will remind you in an instant of what has passed between us,

so that you may not feel lonely or frightened—no matter what may

happen.”

 

“I will do it. What shall I take?”

 

She had her handkerchief in her hand as she spoke. So I put my

hand upon it and blessed it in the name of the Father, Son, and

Holy Ghost. I did this to fix its existence in her memory by awing

her slightly about it. “This,” said I, “shall be a token that you

are not alone.” My object in blessing the handkerchief was fully

achieved, for she did seem somewhat awed, but still she thanked

me with a sweet smile. “I feel that you act from your heart,” said

she, “and my heart thanks you.” She gave me her hand as she spoke,

in an honest, straightforward manner, with more the independence

of a man than the timorousness of a woman. As I grasped it I felt

the blood rushing to my face, but before I let it go an impulse

seized me and I bent down and touched it with my lips. She drew it

quickly away, and said more coldly than she had yet spoken: “I

did not mean you to do that.”

 

“Believe me I did not mean to take a liberty—it was merely the

natural expression of my gratitude. I feel as if you had done me

some great personal service. You do not know how much lighter my

heart is now than it was an hour ago, or you would forgive me for

having so offended.”

 

As I made my apologetic excuse, I looked at her wistfully. She

returned my glance fearlessly, but with a bright, forgiving smile.

She then shook her head slightly, as if to banish the subject.

 

There was a short pause, and then she said:

 

“I am glad to be of any service to you; but if there be

any possibility of what you fear happening it is I who will be

benefited. But mind, I will depend upon you not to say a word

of this to anybody. I am afraid that we are both very foolish.”

 

“No, no, Miss Fothering. I may be foolish, but you are acting

nobly in doing what seems to you to be foolish in order that you

may save me from pain. But may I not even tell Mrs. Trevor?”

 

“No, not even her. I should be ashamed of myself if I thought

that anyone except ourselves knew about it.”

 

“You may depend upon me. I will keep it secret if you wish.”

 

“Do so, until morning at all events. Mind, if I laugh at you

then I will expect you to join in my laugh.”

 

“I will,” said I. “I will be only too glad to be able to laugh

at it.” And we joined the rest of the company.

 

When I retired to my bedroom that night I was too much excited

to sleep—even had my promise not forbidden me to do so. I paced

up and down the room for some time, thinking and doubting. I could

not believe completely in what I expected to happen, and yet my

heart was filled with a vague dread. I thought over the events of

the evening—particularly my stroll after dinner through that awful

yew walk and my looking into the bedroom where I had dreamed. From

these my thoughts wandered to the deep embrasure of the window

where I had given Miss Fothering the token. I could hardly realise

that whole interview as a fact. I knew that it had taken place, but

that was all. It was so strange to recall a scene that, now