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For the Term of His Natural Life

Page 90

by Marcus Andrew Hislop Clarke


  Rufus Dawes had dreamt a dream. Alone, amid the gathering glooms,his fancy had recalled the past, and had peopled it with memories. Hethought that he was once more upon the barren strand where he had firstmet with the sweet child he loved. He lived again his life of usefulnessand honour. He saw himself working at the boat, embarking, and puttingout to sea. The fair head of the innocent girl was again pillowed on hisbreast; her young lips again murmured words of affection in his greedyear. Frere was beside him, watching him, as he had watched before. Onceagain the grey sea spread around him, barren of succour. Once again,in the wild, wet morning, he beheld the American brig bearing down uponthem, and saw the bearded faces of the astonished crew. He saw Freretake the child in his arms and mount upon the deck; he heard the shoutof delight that went up, and pressed again the welcoming hands whichgreeted the rescued castaways. The deck was crowded. All the folk he hadever known were there. He saw the white hair and stern features ofSir Richard Devine, and beside him stood, wringing her thin hands, hisweeping mother. Then Frere strode forward, and after him John Rex,the convict, who, roughly elbowing through the crowd of prisoners andgaolers, would have reached the spot where stood Sir Richard Devine, butthat the corpse of the murdered Lord Bellasis arose and thrust him back.How the hammers clattered in the shipbuilder's yard! Was it a coffinthey were making? Not for Sylvia--surely not for her! The air growsheavy, lurid with flame, and black with smoke. The Hydaspes is on fire!Sylvia clings to her husband. Base wretch, would you shake her off! Lookup; the midnight heaven is glittering with stars; above the smokethe air breathes delicately! One step--another! Fix your eyes onmine--so--to my heart! Alas! she turns; he catches at her dress. What!It is a priest--a priest--who, smiling with infernal joy, would dragher to the flaming gulf that yawns for him. The dreamer leaps at thewretch's throat, and crying, "Villain, was it for this fate I savedher?"--and awakes to find himself struggling with the monster of hisdream, the idol of his waking senses--"Mr. North."

 

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