re was a
roar as of many winds, and a dashing of angry waters, that seemed close
beneath; and she heard the trees groan and bend, and felt the icy and
rushing air: the tempests were abroad. But amidst the mingling of the
mighty sounds, she heard distinctly the ringing of a horse's hoofs; and
presently a wild cry, in which she recognised the voice of Godolphin,
rang forth, adding to the wrath of nature the yet more appalling witness
of a human despair. The cry was followed by the louder dashing of the
waves, and the fiercer turmoil of the winds; and then her anguish and
horror freeing her from the Prison of Sleep, she woke.

It was nearly day, but the serenity of the late night had gone; the
rain fell in torrents, and the house shook beneath the fury of a violent
storm. This change in the mood of nature had probably influenced the
latter part of her dream. But Lucilla thought of no natural solution to
the dreadful vision she had undergone. Her superstition was confirmed
and ratified by the intense impression wrought upon her mind by the
dream. A thousand unutterable fears, fears for Godolphin, rather
than herself--or if for herself, only in connection with him--bore
irresistible despotism over her thoughts. She could not endure to wait,
to linger any longer in the dark and agitated suspense she herself
had created; the idea she before had nursed now became resolve, she
determined forthwith to set out for Rome--to see Godolphin. She rose,
woke her attendant, and that very day she put her resolution into
effect.

CHAPTER XLII.

JOY AND DESPAIR.

It was approaching towards the evening as Lucilla paused for a few
seconds at the door which led to Godolphin's apartments. At length she
summoned courage. The servant who admitted her was Godolphin's favorite
domestic; and he was amazed, but overjoyed, to see her; for Lucilla was
the idol of all who knew her,--save of him, whose love only she cared
and lived for.

His master, he said, was gone out for a short time, but the next day
they were to have returned home. Lucilla coloured with vivid delight
to hear that her letter had produced an effect she had not hoped so
expeditiously to accomplish. She passed on into Godolphin's apartment.
The room bore evident signs of approaching departure; the trunks lay
half-packed on the floor; there was all that importance of confusion
around which makes to the amateur traveller a luxury out of discomfort.
Lucilla sat down, and wait