He had hardly
time to hear this happen, before the dumb moaning, the inarticulate cry
of fear which was all that the poor panic-stricken girl could utter,
rose low, shuddering, and ceaseless, in the darkness--so close at his
ear, that he fancied he could feel her breath palpitating quick and
warm on his cheek.
If she should touch him? If she should be sensible of the motion of
_his_ foot on the floor, as she had been sensible of the motion of
Zack's, when young Thorpe offered her the glass of wine at supper-time?
It was a risk to remain still--it was a risk to move! He stood as
helpless even as the helpless creature near him. That low, ceaseless,
dumb moaning, smote so painfully on his heart, roused up so fearfully
the rude superstitious fancies lying in wait within him, in connection
with the lost and dead Mary Grice, that the sweat broke out on his
face, the coldness of sharp mental suffering seized on his limbs, the
fever of unutterable expectation parched up his throat, and mouth, and
lips; and for the first time, perhaps, in his existence, he felt the
chillness of mortal dread running through him to his very soul--he, who
amid perils of seas and wildernesses, and horrors of hunger and thirst,
had played familiarly with his own life for more than twenty years
past, as a child plays familiarly with an old toy.
Pages:
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548