Page:The Chimes.djvu/157

“How shrill you speak! Why do you fix your eyes upon me so? Margaret!”

She sunk down in a chair, and pressed the infant to her breast, and wept over it. Sometimes, she released it from her embrace, to look anxiously in its face: then strained it to her bosom again. At those times, when she gazed upon it, then it was that something fierce and terrible began to mingle with her love. Then it was that her old father quailed.

“Follow her!” was sounded through the house. “Learn it from the creature dearest to your heart!”

“Margaret,” said Fern, bending over her, and kissing her upon the brow: “I thank you for the last time. Good night. Good-bye! Put your hand m mine, and tell me you’ll forget me from this hour, and try to think the end of me was here.”

“What have you done?” she asked again.

“There’ll be a Fire to-night,” he said, removing from her. “There’ll be Fires this winter-time, to light the dark nights. East, West, North, and South. When you see the distant sky red, they’ll be blazing. When you see the distant sky red, think of me no more; or, if you do, remember what a Hell was lighted up inside of me, and think you see its flames reflected in the clouds. Good night. Good-bye!

She called to him; but he was gone. She sat down stupefied, until her infant roused her to a sense of hunger, cold, and darkness. She paced the room with it the live-long night, hushing it and soothing it. She said at intervals, “Like Lilian,