looked over a small garden, where the
sickly and hoar shrubs, overshadowed by a few wintry poplars and grim
firs, saddened in the dense atmosphere of fog and smoke, which broods
over our island city. An air of gloom hung comfortless and chilling over
the whole scene externally and within. The room itself was large and
old, and its far extremities, mantled as they were with dusk and shadow,
impressed upon the mind that involuntary and vague sensation, not
altogether unmixed with awe, which the eye, resting upon a view that it
can but dimly and confusedly define, so frequently communicates to the
heart. There was a strange oppression at Mordaunt's breast with which he
in vain endeavoured to contend. Ever and anon, an icy but passing chill,
like the shivers of a fever, shot through his veins, and a wild and
unearthly and objectless awe stirred through his hair, and his eyes
filled with a glassy and cold dew, and sought, as by a self-impulse, the
shadowy and unpenetrated places around, which momently grew darker and
darker. Little addicted by his peculiar habits to an over-indulgence of
the imagination, and still less accustomed to those absolute conquests
of the physical frame over the mental, which seem the usual sources of
that feeling we call presentiment, Mordaunt rose, and walking to and
fro along the room, endeavoured by the exercise to restore to his veins
their wonted and healthful circulation. It was past the hour in which
his daughter retired to rest: but he was often accustomed to steal up to
her chamber, and watch her in her young slumbers; and he felt this night
a more than usual desire to perform that office of love; so he left the
room and ascended the stairs. It was a large old house that he tenanted.
The staircase was broad, and lighted from above by a glass dome; and as
he slowly ascended, and the stars gleamed down still and ghastly upon
his steps, he fancied--but he knew not why--that there was an omen in
their gleam. He entered the young Isabel's chamber: there was a light
burning within; he stole to her bed, and putting aside the curtain,
felt, as he looked upon her peaceful and pure beauty, a cheering warmth
gather round his heart. How lovely is the sleep of childhood! What
worlds of sweet, yet not utterly sweet, associations, does it not
mingle with the envy of our gaze! What thoughts and hopes and cares
and forebodings does it not excite! There lie in that yet ungrieved and
unsullied heart what unnu