Shedlock’s temper was not of the kind that would be subdued by these reverses. The adverse influence that they involved, instead of arousing in him the voice of remorse, only rendered him more stubbornly vile; and he became more morose, violent, and tyrannical at each visitation. His bitter temper was a torment to all who were any way connected with him; at home, it plagued his household; abroad, it haunted his tenants; but more than all, sleeping or waking, day or night, it dealt its fullest violence on his loving and patient wife.
Dame Shedlock sank under it fast. Long suffering, through years of unmitigated tribulation, had already introduced disease into her delicate frame; and increased persecution gave it strength and root. As it continued to press upon her, she gradually grew feebler and more feeble; and ultimately, yet without drawing from her one complaint, or any way impairing that abject love and submission which she invariably rendered its heartless minister, it reduced her to the melancholy and cheerless helplessness of a sick-bed.
At the moment that it has been deemed necessary to recall her to the stage of our history, she was lying awake, yet perfectly still, with her eyes turned towards heaven. Her general complexion was deadly pale; but on either cheek, crowning the surrounding whiteness, there was a bright spot of red, looking more like fever than genuine bloom. Her eyes, too, though wearing a serene expression, sparkled like fire, and, on a close inspection, seemed to ache with their own light.
She retained the rapt look described for a full minute, when, hearing a step approach, she turned her glance towards the door, and discerned Abigail. That eccentric domestic, having continued her progress, had by this time made good way, and come close to the bed. She caught the glance of her mistress on the instant; and in a manly voice, and with her accustomed brevity, but more kindness than her face promised, proceeded to explain what had brought her to her presence.
“What man?” asked Dame Shedlock, anxiously. “Ah! I remember me! Thou meanest Bernard Gray?”
Abigail nodded her head, affirmatively. “And where is _he_?” faltered the dame.
“The Lord lend him light!” ejaculated the dame, in faint accents. “Be thou watchful, Abigail; and bring the man hither!”