The sunset was near at hand. The clouds had parted—the slanting light
fell mellow over the hills. The last of the day was cold and clear and
still in the quiet valley of the dead.
Beyond me, in the burial-ground, standing together in the cold
clearness of the lower light, I saw two women. They were looking
towards the tomb, looking towards me.
Two.
They came a little on, and stopped again. Their veils were down, and
hid their faces from me. When they stopped, one of them raised her
veil. In the still evening light I saw the face of Marian Halcombe.
Changed, changed as if years had passed over it! The eyes large and
wild, and looking at me with a strange terror in them. The face worn
and wasted piteously. Pain and fear and grief written on her as with a
brand.
I took one step towards her from the grave. She never moved—she never
spoke. The veiled woman with her cried out faintly. I stopped. The
springs of my life fell low, and the shuddering of an unutterable dread
crept over me from head to foot.
The woman with the veiled face moved away from her companion, and
came towards me slowly. Left by herself, standing by herself, Marian
Halcombe spoke. It was the voice that I remembered—the voice not
changed, like the frightened eyes and the wasted face.
“My dream! my dream!” I heard her say those words softly in the awful
silence. She sank on her knees, and raised her clasped hands to heaven.
“Father! strengthen him. Father! help him in his hour of need.”
The woman came on, slowly and silently came on. I looked at her—at her,
and at none other, from that moment.
The voice that was praying for me faltered and sank low—then rose on a
sudden, and called affrightedly, called despairingly to me to come away.
But the veiled woman had possession of me, body and soul. She stopped
on one side of the grave. We stood face to face with the tombstone
between us. She was close to the inscription on the side of the
pedestal. Her gown touched the black letters.
The voice came nearer, and rose and rose more passionately still. “Hide
your face! don’t look at her! Oh, for God’s sake, spare him——”
The woman lifted her veil.
“Sacred to the Memory of Laura, Lady Glyde——”
Laura, Lady Glyde, was standing by the inscription, and was looking at
me over the grave.
[The Second Epoch of the Story closes here.]