'Pierre!'
''Tis the last cruelty of tyrants to make their enemies slay each other.'
'My heart! my heart!'
'Nay;—Lucy, I am married.'
The girl was no more pale, but white as any leper; the bedclothes trembled to the concealed shudderings of all her limbs; one moment she sat looking vacantly into the blank eyes of Pierre, and then fell over toward him in a swoon.
Swift madness mounted into the brain of Pierre; all the past seemed as a dream, and all the present an unintelligible horror. He lifted her, and extended her motionless form upon the bed, and stamped for succour. The maid Martha came running into the room, and beholding those two inexplicable figures, shrieked, and turned in terror. But Pierre's repeated cry rallied Martha from this, and darting out of the chamber, she returned with a sharp restorative, which at length brought Lucy back to life.
'Martha! Martha!' now murmured Lucy, in a scarce audible whispering, and shuddering in the maid's own shuddering arms, 'quick, quick; come to me—drive it away! wake me! wake me!'
'Nay, pray God to sleep again,' cried Martha, bending over her and embracing her, and half turning upon Pierre with a glance of loathing indignation. 'In God's holy name, sir, what may this be? How came you here; accursed!'
'Accursed?—it is well. Is she herself again, Martha?'
'Thou hast somehow murdered her; how then be herself again? My sweet mistress! oh, my young mistress! Tell me! tell me!' and she bent low over her.
Pierre now advanced toward the bed, making a gesture for the maid to leave them; but soon as Lucy re-caught his haggard form, she whisperingly wailed again, 'Martha! 'Martha! drive it away!—there—there! him—him!'
