# Ethel Churchill/Chapter 72

CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE TRUTH OF PRESENTIMENTS.
I felt my sorrow ere it came,  As storms are felt on high, Before a single cloud denote  Their presence on the sky.
The heart has omens deep and true,  That ask no aid from words; Like viewless music from the harp,  With none to wake its chords.
Strange, subtle, are these mysteries,  And linked with unknown powers, Marking mysterious links that bind  The spirit world to ours.
Henrietta wept long and bitterly; in vain did she try to gain some composure by reading and re-reading Sir Jasper's letter. True, there was not even an allusion to illness in any way; parts were even playful in their cheerfulness; still she felt assured that there was something ​unusual in the earnestly expressed wish to see her. Her uncle had always been so reluctant to urge his claims on her time or attention, so fearful of abridging even her slightest pleasure, that it was no ordinary motive that induced him to urge her visit.
"Alas!" exclaimed she, "what a mistake is our endeavour after happiness! I have all that haunted my childish dreams in our lonely woods; I have wealth, rank, beauty, and wretchedness! I pine for love, and none love me, save one kind old man, and he is far away, suffering solitude I might share, and sickness I could soothe!"
The time had passed quicker than she had thought; and a message from Lord Marchmont, conveying the important intelligence that he was gone to dress, and particularly requesting that her ladyship would be punctual, was the first thing that roused her. She started from her seat.
"Perhaps," thought she, "if I shew Marchmont a readiness to oblige him to-day, and make myself very agreeable, to-morrow I ​may renew the subject of my visit, and persuade him into consenting."
But her heart sank within her when she thought of the cold, chill obstinacy of her husband; even her toilet could not distract her attention. The rich brocade enveloped her graceful figure, and the diamonds glistened in her luxuriant hair, yet they scarcely won a glance from the wearer: but Lady Marchmont had that perfect style of beauty which nothing could disfigure. Mere prettiness needs the becoming, but beauty asks nothing but itself.
The dinner was dull enough; and that worst sort of dulness which frets the spirits, by perpetual demands on their exertion. Lady Marchmont was thankful when it was over; and she entered her carriage to return home alone, for Lord Marchmont was going to his club, he had lately taken to whist-playing. As she alighted, there seemed an unusual stir in the hall; servants came forward to meet her, and then started back; she knew without asking that something was the matter, and ​scarcely could she find voice to ask a question, which her own fears answered. An old domestic came forward; she knew him at once, he had lived for years with her uncle: she clasped her hands, her lips moved, but no sound came from them.
"Madam," said the man, "we have ordered the travelling-carriage; I trust you will yet be in time to see my master."
Lady Marchmont neither shrieked nor fainted, though lip and cheek blanched to the most deadly whiteness.
"In time to see him!" muttered she; and her hollow whisper seemed to reverberate through the hall. "Where is the carriage?" said she, hurrying to the door.
"Won't your ladyship change your dress?" asked her favourite maid, who stood ready prepared for the journey.
"No," exclaimed Henrietta, opening the hall door herself, and hurrying down the steps, where the carriage stood waiting: "tell the postilions to drive for life and death!" ​exclaimed she, springing in without assistance; and, throwing herself back, drew the hood of her mantle over her face.
Her favourite woman followed her in silence; she saw that the advice and directions with which she was generally ready, would not even be heard. Like the other servants, she was awed by her mistress's pale and speechless despair. During the whole of the journey, Henrietta never spoke but twice, and that was to urge the attendants to speed. Now and then a slight shudder passed through her frame; it was when the image of her uncle rose too painfully distinct before her: she dared not ask even herself, should she see him again?
On Lord Marchmont's return, he, too, was struck with the unusual appearance of confusion in his hall; but anger was his predominant sensation when he heard that Henrietta had actually set off without waiting one moment.
"She must be mad!" exclaimed he, "to ​go without consulting me, and without my permission!"
"Her ladyship thought, perhaps, that you would overtake her," said one of the attendants.
"She thought very wrong then," said Lord Marchmont, pettishly: "she may go on her wild-goose chase alone, I am not going half over the country on such a night as this. Why, it rains in torrents!"
The idea that it was more comfortable in the house than out of it, did much towards reconciling his lordship. He felt positively glad that, as his wife had acted without his sanction, she should be subject to all possible inconvenience, as if such could be felt in Henrietta's state of mind.
"Some of Sir Jasper's property," muttered he to himself, on his way to his dressing-room, "is yet unsettled. I do not think that there is any danger of his leaving it away from Henrietta; still, old men are capricious, and, perhaps, it is as well that Henrietta is on the ​spot: at all events, if she had staid till tomorrow, I must have accompanied her; now, that will be perfectly needless."
He then allowed his valet to help him on with his dressing-gown; and, leaning back in the large well-cushioned chair, looking the very picture of luxurious ease, said, "I shall have a bottle of the old Burgundy, and tell Chloe he must exert himself to send me up some slight chef-d'œuvre for supper: I am sure that one needs something, after so much annoyance!"