Why sleeps he not, when others are at rest?
--Byron.
According to the explanation I had received, the road I was now to pursue
was somewhat longer, but much better, than that which I generally took.
It was to lead me home through the churchyard of--, the same, by the by,
which Lord Vincent had particularized in his anecdote of the mysterious
stranger. The night was clear, but windy: there were a few light clouds
passing rapidly over the moon, which was at her full, and shone through
the frosty air, with all that cold and transparent brightness so peculiar
to our northern winters. I walked briskly on till I came to the
churchyard; I could not then help pausing (notwithstanding my total
deficiency in all romance) to look for a few moments at the exceeding
beauty of the scene around me. The church itself was extremely old, and
stood alone and grey, in the rude simplicity of the earliest form of
gothic architecture: two large dark yew-trees drooped on each side over
tombs, which from their size and decorations, appeared to be the last
possession of some quondam lords of the soil. To the left, the ground was
skirted by a thick and luxuriant copse of evergreens, in the front of
which stood one tall, naked oak, stern and leafless, a very token of
desolation and decay; there were but few grave stones scattered about,
and these were, for the most part, hidden by the long wild grass which
wreathed and climbed round them. Over all, the blue skies and still moon
shed that solemn light, the effect of which, either on the scene or the
feelings, it is so impossible to describe.
I was just about to renew my walk, when a tall, dark figure, wrapped up,
like myself, in a large French cloak, passed slowly along from the other
side of the church, and paused by the copse I have before mentioned. I
was shrouded at that moment from his sight by one of the yew trees; he
stood still only for a few moments; he then flung himself upon the earth,
and sobbed, audibly even at the spot where I was standing. I was in doubt
whether to wait longer or to proceed; my way lay just by him, and it
might be dangerous to interrupt so substantial an apparition. However, my
curiosity was excited, and my feet were half frozen, two cogent reasons
for proceeding; and, to say truth, I was never very much frightened by
any thing dead or alive.
Accordingly I left my obscurity, and walked slowly onwards. I had not got
above three paces before the figure rose, and stood erect and motionless
before me. His hat had fallen off, and the moon shone full upon his
countenance; it was not the wild expression of intense anguish which
dwelt on those hueless and sunken features; nor their quick change to
ferocity and defiance, as his eyes fell upon me, which made me start back
and feel my heart stand still! Notwithstanding the fearful ravages graven
in that countenance, then so brilliant with the graces of boyhood, I
recognized, at one glance, those still noble and chiselled features. It
was Reginald Glanville who stood before me! I recovered myself instantly;
I threw myself towards him, and called him by his name. He turned
hastily; but I would not suffer him to escape; I put my hand upon his
arm, and drew him towards me. "Glanville!" I exclaimed, "it is I! it is
your old--old friend, Henry Pelham. Good God! have I met you at last, and
in such a scene?"
Glanville shook me from him in an instant, covered his face with his
hands, and sunk down with one wild cry, which went fearfully through that
still place, upon the spot from which he had but just risen. I knelt
beside him; I took his hand; I spoke to him in every endearing term that
I could think of; and roused and excited as my feelings were, by so
strange and sudden a meeting, I felt my tears involuntarily falling over
the hand which I held in my own. Glanville turned; he looked at me for
one moment, as if fully to recognize me: and then throwing himself in my
arms, wept like a child.
It was but for a few minutes that this weakness lasted; he rose suddenly
--the whole expression of his countenance was changed--the tears still
rolled in large drops down his cheeks, but the proud, stern character
which the features had assumed, seemed to deny the feelings which that
feminine weakness had betrayed.
"Pelham," he said, "you have seen me thus; I had hoped that no living eye
would--this is the last time in which I shall indulge this folly. God
bless you--we shall meet again--and this night shall then seem to you
like a dream."
I would have answered, but he turned swiftly, passed in one moment
through the copse, and in the next had utterly disappeared.