It was as if she were going to die. Nor was that
all;--for--to misuse the quotation--
"For, in that sleep of death, what dreams might come!"
She might dream of some one, love some one--yes, marry some one, and so
drive him mad.
When the last night arrived, he followed her up-stairs, and knocked at
her room door, to see her once again, and make one more appeal. Now an
appeal has only to do with justice or pity. With love it is of no use.
With love it is as unavailing as wisdom or gold or beauty. But no lover
believes this.
There was no answer to the first, the inarticulate appeal. He lost his
courage, and dared not knock again; and while Kate was standing with
her head on one side, and her dress half off, wondering if any one had
knocked, he crept away to his bed ashamed. There was only a partition
of lath and plaster between the two, neither of whom could sleep, but
neither of whom could have given the other any comfort. Not even
another thunder-storm could have brought them together again that
night.
At length the pitiless dawn, which _will_ come, awoke Alec, and he saw
the last few aged stars wither away as the great young star came up the
hill, the despot who, crowned with day, drives men up and abroad, be
the weather, inside or out, what it may.
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