The Monk - Matthew Gregory Lewis [139]
This vision arrested her feet; she remained as if petrified in the middle of the apartment. The stranger with measured and solemn steps drew near the table. The dying taper darted a blue and melancholy flame as the figure advanced towards it. Over the table was fixed a small clock; the hand of it was upon the stroke of three. The figure stopped opposite to the clock: it raised its right arm, and pointed to the hour, at the same time looking earnestly upon Antonia, who waited for the conclusion of this scene, motionless and silent.
The figure remained in this posture for some moments. The clock struck. When the sound had ceased, the stranger advanced yet a few steps nearer Antonia.
“Yet three days,” said a voice faint, hollow, and sepulchral; “yet three days, and we meet again!”
Antonia shuddered at the words.
“We meet again?” she pronounced at length with difficulty: “Where shall we meet? Whom shall I meet?”
The figure pointed to the ground with one hand, and with the other raised the linen which covered its face.
“Almighty God! My mother?”
Antonia shrieked, and fell lifeless upon the floor.
Dame Jacintha, who was at work in a neighbouring chamber, was alarmed by the cry: Flora was just gone down stairs to fetch fresh oil for the lamp by which they had been sitting. Jacintha therefore hastened alone to Antonia’s assistance, and great was her amazement to find her extended upon the floor. She raised her in her arms, conveyed her to her apartment, and placed her upon the bed, still senseless. She then proceeded to bathe her temples, chafe her hands, and use all possible means of bringing her to herself. With some difficulty she succeeded. Antonia opened her eyes, and looked round her wildly.
“Where is she?” she cried in a trembling voice: “Is she gone? Am I safe? Speak to me! Comfort me! Oh! speak to me, for God’s sake!”
“Safe from whom, my child?” replied the astonished Jacintha: “What alarms you? Of whom are you afraid?”
“In three days! She told me that we should meet in three days! I heard her say it! I saw her, Jacintha, I saw her but this moment!”
She threw herself upon Jacintha’s bosom.
“You saw her?—Saw whom?
“My mother’s ghost!”
“Christ Jesus!” cried Jacintha; and, starting from the bed, let fall Antonia upon the pillow, and fled in consternation out of the room.
As she hastened down stairs, she met Flora ascending them.
“Go to your mistress, Flora,” said she; “here are rare doings! Oh! I am the most unfortunate woman alive! My house is filled with ghosts and dead bodies, and the Lord knows what besides; yet I am sure nobody likes such company less than I do. But go your way to Donna Antonia, Flora, and let me go mine.”
Thus saying, she continued her course to the street-door, which she opened; and, without allowing herself time to throw on her oil, she made the best of her way to the Capuchin-abbey. In the mean while, Flora hastened to her lady’s chamber, equally surprised and alarmed at Jacintha’s consternation. She found Antonia lying upon the bed, insensible. She used the same means for her recovery that Jacintha had already employed; but finding that her mistress only recovered from one fit to fall into another, she sent in all haste for a physician. While expecting his arrival, she undressed Antonia, and conveyed her to bed.
Heedless of the