Modern Flirtations: A Novel

by Catherine Sinclair

  CHAPTER XLI.

  With all the acute susceptibilities of youth, Marion now experienced,for the first time, what it was to watch over an almost hopelessillness, and, with a shuddering sensation of unutterable woe, she triedto obtain that comfort from above, which nothing on earth could supply.Days passed slowly on, the longest and most melancholy she had everknown, while most of her hours were spent in prayer, but all around wasgloom. Nothing could be more oppressive to her than the subdued whisperand stealthy step of Sir Arthur's attendants, his vacant seat, hisdarkened room, the mute and solemn looks of his physician, and, aboveall, the inward anguish with which, hour after hour, she sat with hishand in hers, watching the fluctuations of his feeble pulse, observingwith awe and grief the pale ensigns of death gathering over hisfeatures, and feeling as if every labored breath he drew gave him but amomentary reprieve from the grave, while she could not bear tocontemplate the probability of burying with her beloved uncle, all thedear and tender ties that bound them to each other.

  With no one to console her, and nothing on earth to screen her from thedesolating blast of grief, the whole fabric of her worldly happinessseemed crumbling to dust. Her heart was like an exhausted receiver, andher spirit sank, yet no inducement could have withdrawn her for an hourfrom that scene of solemn, deep, and awful melancholy. Throughout thelong, dreary hours of night, each of which seemed an eternity ofanxious care, Marion felt too deeply impressed with the solemnityaround for the indulgence of any violent emotion. Nothing is so silentas intense feeling! Stunned and stupified by the sudden affliction, awild chaos of sorrow, fear, and amazement rushed through her youngmind, filling her with agony, which tears could not relieve; but nowwas the time for that supernatural aid given by Divine grace to thehumble, believing Christian. In silent, speechless prayer, Marion foundher first and only relief; then she felt that her heart was read, andher sorrows pitied, by One who has shared every human grief, carriedevery human sorrow, and to whom the suffering sinner never applies invain.

  One morning, the grey light of dawn stole through a crevice of theshutters, while, in her lonely silence, Marion felt as if the wholeworld were in a trance, and not a sound was heard, but the slow tickingof the clock, reminding her that time and death are forever advancing.She sat watching every minute change of that beloved countenanceshattered by sickness, and evidently sinking in decay, when Sir Arthurunexpectedly opened his eyes, which once more beamed with intelligence,as he fixed them with a look of touching mournfulness on Marion, andcalled her by name. That voice, which had so long been dear to her, nowsounded strange and unnatural, being palsied by weakness, while theglassiness of the grave was in his eye; but Marion, forcibly subduingall appearance of emotion, stooped down, and, with a momentary gleam ofhope, kissed his pale forehead.

  "Marion! we have loved each other well," said he feebly, extending hishand to her. "For your sake I would stay, old and weary as I am, butthe far better will of God is otherwise. Before that clock strikesagain, I shall be in a better world."

  Marion covered her face with her hands and attempted not to speak, forshe saw that the sure hand of time, and the heavier hand of sorrow, hadindeed done their work. It was but too evident that Sir Arthur wouldnever see another night, for he was about to awaken in the mighty dawnof eternity, where no darkness ever would follow. The frail, old,worn-out tenement of his body, so full of infirmities, was now to enterits rest; his head, whitened with age and suffering, had been anointedwith peace, and, having partaken with cheerful thankfulness of thebanquet of life, he was evidently willing to make way, that othersmight fill his place; not disgusted or dissatisfied with existence, butthankful that he had tasted better joys than those of earth, anddesiring to enjoy them at last in never-ending perfection. A mysteriousconviction is generally given to the dying, when their disease becomesmortal, but though nature shrank at first from the solemn change,religion supported the powerful mind of Sir Arthur, who added, in atone of commanding calmness, while a beam of ineffable peace overspreadhis countenance,

  "You are now my sole earthly care--as you are my only earthly comfort.It breaks my heart to leave my Marion worse than alone, while Patrickand Agnes remorsely pursue their own pleasure, careless how you aretrampled down in their wild career."

  "Dear uncle!" whispered Marion, wishing to soothe him, "you consignedme to the care of Richard Granville, and year after year, while welive, you shall be remembered by us both with the affection andgratitude of children to a parent."

  "I did hope, my dear girl, that I should have lived to understand hisconduct, and even now, while standing in the gloomy porch of death, itwould cheer me to see him and dear Henry again. If Granville be the manI believe him, he will come immediately to see you now, and all will besatisfactorily explained--if not, the world is worse than I thought."

  "If Richard is alive, he will come, dear uncle--but oh! what a meetingit would be, without you!"

  "Take comfort, dear Marion. Think of me often, but let it be withconsolation. My long life seems but a span! May yours be blessed withevery affection of this world--with every hope for eternity--and mayyour death-bed be attended by one as dear and affectionate as mine is.May your eyes be closed in the same undoubting faith, and may I bepermitted to meet you on the very threshold of heaven, and in theaugust presence of Him, whom 'not having seen, we love, and in whombelieving, we rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory.'"

  With a face livid as death, Marion choked back her sobs and restrainedher tears, while she listened to every faltering word Sir Arthur said,as if her life depended on hearing him. When he became silent fromexhaustion, she attempted to whisper a few broken expressions of griefand affection in his ear. Unable, however, to think or speak under theweight of her sorrow, she might have been mistaken for a corpse, butfor the look of living agony in her eye, while struggling with a sorrowwhich tears or lamentations could not have expressed, and could nothave relieved.

  At length Sir Arthur's breathing became uncertain--his majestic chestheaved convulsively--a damp, cold dew broke out on his forehead--theheart which had beat with every kind and noble emotion, could beat nomore--and, giving a last glance of fond affection at Marion, a grey,ashy hue stole over his features, and his countenance assumed thatstrange, peculiar aspect which is seen in death, and in death only.Marion saw it, and long afterwards that look was forever before hersight. Nothing in all the earth is so unutterly sublime as death.Strange and solemn was the mysterious horror, the inexplicable wonder,with which Marion, for the first time, witnessed the soul forsaking itsearthly tabernacle. Day after day, when she returned to watch besideall that now remained of her earliest and kindest friend, while herheart seemed scorched and seared with grief, she gazed on the mortalform in ruins before her--its light extinguished--its tenantdeparted--its whole nature in a moment transformed--and, forgettingsometimes for a moment her own grief, her loneliness, her deep andfearful bereavements, she thought but of that purified spirit nowemancipated into the regions of eternal glory, and almost longed forthe period when she also might become as indifferent to things of timeas the inanimate corpse beside her. Often, however, she tried, with aneye of faith, to look beyond the portals of the tomb, remembering thatdeath is to a Christian, like the setting of the sun, for while lost tohuman sight, he still exists and shines with unfading glory andeverlasting brightness.

  When Sir Arthur's remains were placed in the coffin, Marion felt as ifthe last link were severed between them. His better part had, indeed,already departed, but the cold image before her was still associatedwith all she had ever known of happiness or affection, yet, in thestrong agony of her grief, when all seemed a gloomy chaos of solitarydesolation, she felt consoled by reflecting that her own devoted carehad assisted in smoothing his passage to the grave; and she could notbut think how great must be the joys of another world, when suchaffliction as her's was not worthy to be compared with them. A widehorizon of sorrow seemed before her, long days of loneliness and longernights of grief; while, though young in years
, she already felt old inaffliction, for a blight and a mildew were upon her spirit. Marion'ssanguine mind and ardent feelings had nothing near her on which torest, the whole energy of her being, for the time, seemed crushed andwithered; the future appeared to stretch before her mind in a longvista of moving shadows, and the memory of past happiness, like gold inthe hand of a drowning man, sank her only the deeper in grief. Herbeloved uncle seemed still to be everywhere--yet she saw him not. Inall the earth there was not a thought which did not pierce her, or aworldly hope which did not now bring an icy chilliness to herheart--for a dark cloud had fallen between her and all those whoseaffection once adorned her existence.

  It was now that Marion, like a tempest-tossed vessel, surrounded bydarkness and fear, turned for direction and help to that steady andbenignant light burning at a distance, which alone could direct herinto a haven of rest. Her sorrow became gradually illuminated by hopeand peace. She clung to every shattered wreck of happiness whichremained, and sinking on her knees, she felt that no one could ever becompletely alone, or completely miserable, who rightly used theprivilege of speaking her wishes in prayer to that great and holyBeing, who is the father and the friend of all his earth-born children.Marion had long believed that the happiest life is that most conformedto the will of God--that grief arises from not believing whatever isappointed to be really best; and now she found in the Bible thatcomfort which is nowhere else to be gained. The deepest emotions ofthis world remain unseen and unknown to all around; for the strength ofcharacter which gives power to feel, gives power also to hide, andthere is a modesty in real sensibility, which admits not of display;but Marion, cut off now from all the tenderest sympathies of life,became the more zealous and diligent in preparing for that hour when"mourned and mourner lie together in repose."

  Oh! if belov'd ones from their hallow'd sphere, May witness warm affection's faithful tear, At this deep hour, they hear the mourner's sigh, And waft a blessing from their homes on high.