Her senses hung entranced upon his words. Oh, what a witchery is in the tongue of love. Some even of the former colour of her cheek returned as forgetting all for the moment but that she was listening to the voice of him, the thoughts of whom had made up the day dream of her happiness, she gazed upon his face.
His voice ceased. To her it seemed as if some music had suddenly left off in its most exquisite passage. She clung to his arm--she looked imploringly up to him. Her head sunk upon his breast as she cried,
"Charles, Charles, I did love you. I do love you now."
"Then let sorrow and misfortune shake their grisly locks in vain," he cried. "Heart to heart--hand to hand with me, defy them."
He lifted up his arms towards Heaven as he spoke, and at the moment came such a rattling peal of thunder, that the very earth seemed to shake upon its axis.
A half scream of terror burst from the lips of Flora, as she cried,--
"What was that?"
"Only thunder," said Charles, calmly.
"'Twas an awful sound."
"A natural one."
"But at such a moment, when you were defying Fate to injure us. Oh! Charles, is it ominous?"
"Flora, can you really give way to such idle fancies?"
"The sun is obscured."
"Ay, but it will shine all the brighter for its temporary eclipse. The thunder-storm will clear the air of many noxious vapours; the forked lightning has its uses as well as its powers of mischief. Hark! there again!"
Another peal, of almost equal intensity to the other, shook the firmament. Flora trembled.
"Charles," she said, "this is the voice of Heaven. We must part--we must part for ever. I cannot be yours."
"Flora, this is madness. Think again, dear Flora. Misfortunes for a time will hover over the best and most fortunate of us; but, like the clouds that now obscure the sweet sunshine, will pass away, and leave no trace behind them. The sunshine of joy will shine on you again."
There was a small break in the clouds, like a window looking into Heaven. From it streamed one beam of sunlight, so bright, so dazzling, and so beautiful, that it was a sight of wonder to look upon. It fell upon the face of Flora; it warmed her cheek; it lent lustre to her pale lips and tearful eyes; it illumined that little summer-house as if it had been the shrine of some saint.
"Behold!" cried Charles, "where is your omen now?"
"God of Heaven!'" cried Flora; and she stretched out her arms.
"The clouds that hover over your spirit now," said Charles, "shall pass away. Accept this beam of sunlight as a promise from God."
"I will--I will. It is going."
"It has done its office."
The clouds closed over the small orifice, and all was gloom again as before.
"Flora," said Charles, "you will not ask me now to leave you?"
She allowed him to clasp her to his heart. It was beating for her, and for her only.
"You will let me, Flora, love you still?"
Her voice, as she answered him, was like the murmur of some distant melody the ears can scarcely translate to the heart.
"Charles we will live, love, and die together."
And now there was a wrapt stillness in that summer-house for many minutes--a trance of joy. They did not speak, but now and then she would look into his face with an old familiar smile, and the joy of his heart was near to bursting in tears from his eyes.
A shriek burst from Flora's lips--a shriek so wild and shrill that it awakened echoes far and near. Charles staggered back a step, as if shot, and then in such agonised accents as he was long indeed in banishing the remembrance of, she cried,--
"The vampyre! the vampyre!"
CHAPTER XVII.
THE EXPLANATION.--THE ARRIVAL OF THE ADMIRAL AT THE HOUSE.--A SCENE OF CONFUSION, AND SOME OF ITS RESULTS.
[Illustration]
So sudden and so utterly unexpected a cry of alarm from Flora, at such a time might well have the effect of astounding the nerves of any one, and no wonder that Charles was for a few seconds absolutely petrified and almost unable to think.
Mechanically, then, he turned his eyes towards the door of the summer-house, and there he saw a tall, thin man, rather elegantly dressed, whose countenance certainly, in its wonderful resemblance to the portrait on the panel, might well appal any one.
The stranger stood in the irresolute attitude on the threshold of the summer-house of one who did not wish to intrude, but who found it as awkward, if not more so now, to retreat than to advance.