CHAPTER XXII.
"Lovely in life, and unparted in death."--_Anon._
About two months after their arrival at the Towers, the Earl andCountess in the garb of deep mourning were walking together down theHolly Walk. We do not know why they chose that peculiar place, fraughtwith so many sad recollections; however, they silently trod the verdantpath, and seated themselves on the selfsame bench where youngRavensworth had last sat, where Lady Florence and Ellen rested on themorning of his departure.
"Ellen," said the Earl, "we have now been united for twelve years, andnever has one unkind word or action marred my domestic bliss; you havebeen my partner in joy, my solace in woe, and as our family tree isstript leaf by leaf, and we two, and our bud Augusta are alone left, Ioften think what should I do without you."
"My dearest Wentworth, I have often told you it is but my duty--adelightful one--to try and be a helpmate instead of hindrance to you;and I may say too during all our married life I have never seen anunkind look,--you have been my love and faithful lover in a wayunhappily too rare."
"Yes, we were made for each other, Ellen; they say marriages are made inheaven: I am sure ours was, for by my union with you I have woneverything in this world and the next. I have lived to see and admireyour silent example, lived to see its blessed fruits in my two sisters,lived to follow and value religion, and to feel the assurance that ourhearts are bound not only now, but to all eternity in cords ofeverlasting love."
"Give to God the praise, dearest Wentworth; if I have been the unworthyinstrument of leading you from earthly dross to eternal and unchangeableriches, I have been _only_ the poor instrument, but this seems myhappiness; to hear my best loved speak so is the bright answer of many,many prayers. I knew they would be answered. I felt sure you were mineboth upon earth and in heaven!"
"Ah, Ellen, it is in this one sees the reality of religion. What arerank, earthly honours, position, wealth, if only to be used or abusedhere? What are all to a dying man? Yes, it is one thing to talk ofdeath, one thing to enjoy life, as if death existed not,--it is anotherto know our end is near, to feel we must soon lose all; leave the worldnaked as we came into it, tread out on empty space, quit our firmfooting below! had we then no assurance that around us were theeverlasting arms, what would all earthly joys do for us? but thanks toheaven, and to you for leading me to seek that treasure where neithermoth nor rust doth corrupt, I feel that if called to die this night Icould die happy. There might be the pang mortal man must own when hisbreath forsakes him, there might be the human dread of the cold tomb,the pain of the wrench from those we love below, but my mind would behappy, happy in the thought I should soon see you again, and those Iloved, and have darkly lost."
"True, dearest, and earth has so little left us now, it seems as if wewere called to think more on heaven! Every tie seems severed butone--our daughter. I would endure to live for her and for you, butcertainly most of our dear ones are beyond the grave, and there my heartoften soars too."
"I have a strange presentiment, dearest Ellen, that I shall not long bespared to you. Since my brother's death I have felt the shadow of thetomb overshading me! Whether it was the awful scene of hisself-destruction, or the air of the damp dungeon in which he wasconfined, I know not, but I have never felt the same man since. I thinkI shall soon go too!"
"Ah! say not so," said the Countess. "Oh, Wentworth! you must not leaveus. It is a different thing to speak of death and to see our dearestfade beneath its cruel breath! You must take advice, dear, and changethe air. This uncertain climate, after so long a residence in Italy, isnot suiting you. Promise me you will take advice."
"It is needless, love; no doctor could avail. Remember the Weird;remember what I told you in the grot where I sought and won your handand heart. Ours is a strange family! Coming death with us casts hisshadow ever before. I have long been under that shade. No, Ellen, it iscome at last; I shall never see the summer roses! Spring is now puttingout her buds and early leaves, but summer's flowers will blossom over mytomb."
"Oh! my dear husband," said the Countess, with tears in her eyes, "donot talk thus, and break my heart. Oh! live for your Ellen! it will killher if you die. Live for Augusta! Oh, do not--do not leave us."
"I hear the voice that calls me, Ellen; you must not weep so; it willonly be for a little while we are separated; it is but a _narrow_stream, and you will live and bring up our pledge of fondest love,little Augusta; let her be your second self, and I will look down onyou, and be very near you still, only the thinnest, airiest veil willlie between us. I believe, and I think many believe with me, ourdeparted friends are close beside us. I doubt not Edith and Florence arevery near now; we cannot see, nor feel, nor hear them, but 'tis only thebreaking of life's silver cord that severs us."
"Wentworth, if you die your Ellen will not long survive you. Do yourecollect too what I told you when we pledged our faith? that not evendeath should part us--it will not, I feel sure. But here comes Augustawith early flowers, dear child; let us speak of happier things. Come,darling, you must banish these thoughts of gloom; you will be sparedlong to us both, I am sure."
The Earl shook his head, and rose to greet his little daughter, who hadmade a bouquet of sweet primroses, violets, and snowdrops, gathered bythe burn's side, for her mother. The Countess received the offering witha smile, kissed her daughter, and the family group then returned to theTowers, conversing on ordinary topics. Still through the remainder ofthe day a cloud often darkened over the Countess's face as she thoughton the morning's conversation; and her husband's words, alas! tooprophetic in their doom, rung like a death-knell in her ears.
She could not help noticing a peculiar and unusual heaviness about theEarl; he was not like himself all day, and retired to rest at an earlyhour. Lady Wentworth's fears were, however, partially chased away by thegood spirits in which her husband rose next morning. He asked her toaccompany him on horseback, with Augusta, to some of the surroundingfarms, which she gladly acceded to. They returned at luncheon time, andshortly after that meal her anxiety was first awakened by a ratheralarming giddiness and faintness which suddenly attacked the Earl. Itwas some time ere he recovered his sensibility, and then a severeheadache oppressed him, growing so bad that before evening the Countessprevailed on him to allow her to send for the physician. The latter atonce perceived it was from fever that he was suffering, and ordered himto bed. For some days no bad symptoms were observed; the doctor wasquite sanguine, and told the Countess that he doubted not but that theunimpaired physical strength of the Earl would get the better of thedisease. About the eighth day, however, unfavourable symptoms firstshowed themselves, and the fever assumed the low typhoid form. Anothermedical adviser was called in. From the first, however, the Earl hadtold the doctor he should not recover; but this was kept from theCountess, who hoped on still. The fell disease ran on its course, everyday the fever became fiercer, and at last even Ellen saw there waslittle hope of his recovery. The fever did its work of ruin withruthless vengeance, prostrating its victim, and undermining hisstrength, till the stout Earl was reduced to the mere shadow of what hehad been. From the eighteenth day more or less delirium and stupor setin, and he knew no one, not even Ellen, who with unremitting care hadwatched him through his illness, and never once left his side, scarcelyclosing her eyes.
The crisis arrived: for twenty-one days he had been stretched on the bedof sickness,--for nearly four delirium triumphed. About noon he openedhis eyes, and when he saw his pale loving wife sitting by him holdinghis hot dry hand in her own, and chafing his temples, he smiled andarticulated the word "Ellen." She eagerly drunk the sound--it was lifein death to her.
"You know me then, dearest, you are better?"
"Yes, I know you now, my love. I feel better, but I am very weak. Go andtake some sleep, dearest, I shall be better soon."
Exhausted with the exertion of speaking so long, he sank back on hispillow. Ellen kissed his brow softly, and whispering, "I shall soon beback, darling," left him to seek Nature's great
restorer, of which thegentle lady had so much need. She never saw him again; she never morecame back to sit at his loved side. The fatigue of twenty-one days'watch, twenty-one nights' sleepless vigil, was too much even for hersystem. Her head ached throbbingly, she could not sleep, so hot andfevered she grew; and when trying to wrestle with tired Nature'sdemands, she again rose to continue her labour of love, she sankexhausted on the ground. She was placed on a sofa and restorativesemployed, but without effect, and about the hour of sunset the doctorpronounced life fled! The Earl recovered from the fever, but not fromits effects. He never rose from the bed on which he had so long lain,but during the five days he still survived he was blessed with the fullpossession of his reason. He missed his kind attentive wife, and oftenasked after her. Fearing the effects of his learning the sad news, thedoctors for some time deceived him so far as to tell him she was onlyill, very ill, or would be beside him.
"Why is she not brought here?" he asked. He read the answer in the faceof his attendants. "Tell me the whole truth, hide nothing from me--Ellenis no more."
"She is in heaven,--she is happy. My daughter is safe now beyond thestorms of life," said Mr. Ravensworth, who stood beside his couch.
"She has been faithful to death," said the dying man, "and has receivedher crown of life before me. I can die calmer now. I shall see her againvery soon. Call my daughter, Augusta; I must bid her adieu. Has theMarquis arrived yet?"
"He is expected every moment," said Mr. Ravensworth. "Mr. Power is alsohere. Would you like to receive the Sacrament?"
"Yes, much--very much. You will share it with me, will you not?"
"I will. Shall I call Mr. Power, then?"
"Yes, now,--and Augusta."
The dying man sank back, and closed his eyes,--he seemed lost inprayer,--so much so he did not notice either Augusta, the clergyman, northe Marquis, who had just arrived by express speed, and stood by hisfriend's bed with clasped hands, and eyes wet with tears. The Earlopened his eyes.
"Call Andrew and Philip. I feel death's hand upon me now. I must takeleave of my faithful servants."
Some one left the room quietly; and soon afterwards the _leal_ oldbutler, and Philip, as well as several other servants, amongst whom cameWilton, entered the chamber of death.
It was the hour when early dawn first glows the orient skies. Thatrising sun would be the last that would ever lighten the Earl's eyes! Itwas a lovely morning in late spring,--a dewy coolness breathed over thewoods and plains,--the first rays were shedding their radiance on thedistant hills,--the old Towers were just catching the descendingglory,--birds were singing, flowers unfolding, and timid deer shakingthe dew-drops from their flanks. It was the infancy of the day,--thebirth of the light,--the morning of the natural world,--the spring ofthe year. It was all this without. To have walked over the verdantpark,--to have wandered through the green woods, with their vernalleaf,--to have tracked the bubbling rivulet,--to have breathed the freshmorning air,--to have watched the matin glow,--to have heard the bird'searly carol,--to have glanced at that fine old mansion,--who would havethought of death? Everything was life! Everything was gladness withoutthose walls! Who would have thought of death within? And yet the ownerof these broad estates,--these woods,--flood and fells,--the lord ofthat ancient castle,--the master of all we see,--was then _dying_. Thelady of his love,--the mistress of all we see,--_dead_![I] Ah! what adifferent scene is within that pile! Let us open the door of thebanqueting-room--the room where wine and merriment had often made thelong winter evenings seem short--the room where we have seen so many ofthe noble family and their friends pass the wine-cup that circled thehalls with glee! Let us see what is there now. The great table isclothed with crape; the walls are draped with black; and on that tablelies a narrow coffin. There is nothing funeral about its appearance; itis covered with white velvet, and ornamented with silver; white silkenropes pass through the handles, and each has a wrought-silver tassel. Abright silver plate shines in the centre,--above it the coronet and armsof the Wentworths are engraved,--on it are the simple name and age ofthe departed one,--
ELLEN, COUNTESS OF WENTWORTH, Aged 31 years. She sleeps in peace!
On the lid a wreath of white roses has been placed, as a tribute ofundying love, by Augusta. There is something bright in the death of sucha being,--it is the birth into glory!
Let us next ascend the staircase, and, passing along the corridor, openthe door of the Earl's room. Here another sad sight awaits us. On hisdying bed, supported by pillows, he sits up, his two hands placed onAugusta's fair hair; she kneels beside her expiring parent, and weepswith wild despair. A beautiful girl of eleven, she is early called tosuffer bereavement! Her mother lies cold below,--her father lies sinkingbefore her. No marvel the poor child weeps! She is losing a fondfather,--has lost a fond mother. Beside her stands the tall, stalwartMarquis of Arranmore. His face is buried in his hands. He is losing adear friend and brother! At the foot of the couch kneels the clergyman,at the side of Mr. Ravensworth, offering a prayer to heaven to supportand comfort in the hour of death, and look with pity on the orphan. Heis losing a kind patron. Near the door are grouped the weeping servants.They are losing a generous master. There is one other occupant of thechamber,--the Earl's Newfoundland dog. That dumb animal knows well hislord is dying, and with wistful glance watches his every movement. On asmall table beside the bed are the sacred Elements, about to beadministered. All are silent. Nought is heard save the subdued weepingof men, and the unrestrained sobs of the only representative of woman,poor little Augusta. That still silence is broken. Who speaks? The dyingman. Every ear is attentive,--every heart responsive as he speaks!
"Andrew, you have ever been a faithful servant to me; when I am gone,for my sake, be a faithful servant--nay friend--to my child!"
"Gude bless you! I will--I will!" cried the poor old man. "But, oh! itis a sair trial to lose you, my good master!"
"I say the same to you, Philip, and the rest. Adieu to you all."
The Earl ceased. Again the voice of weeping was heard. Poor old Andrewcame forward and pressed his master's hand to his lips, then retired,whispering the rest to follow him, leaving only the family in the room.
"And now, my little Augusta, your papa is dying, love! You will be anorphan, my child; but the God of the fatherless will be your God!Promise me, darling, to seek early that friend,--the only friend on thebed of death. Kiss me, love. And I am sure your uncle will be a kinduncle to you when your papa is no more. Farewell, my little Augusta, Godbless and keep you!"
Another pause:--then, addressing the Marquis, he continued: "You will bea father to my child when she is left an orphan. Oh! bring her up sothat she may resemble her sainted mother. And you, my dear Ravensworth,you, too, will remember my daughter's spiritual welfare. You are herGodfather. Oh! act up to your sacred office! I should like to see youalone, Arranmore, now,--only a few moments, and then I will receive theCommunion."
At the hint Mr. Ravensworth led Augusta from the room to anante-chamber, whither he and Mr. Power also retired.
The Earl then said, "My dear Arranmore, I wished to see you privatelyabout the possibility of there being yet a claimant to my title. Shouldsuch a one come forward, promise me, as a friend and brother, you willabide by justice. Not even for Augusta, to whom I commend your fondestlove, depart from the right, or swerve from truth. You will promise me?"
"I will," said the Marquis, scarcely articulating the word in his grief.
"And you will be Augusta's guardian and guide. You and Ravensworth Ihave made co-trustees and guardians. Oh! bring her up to emulate herdear mother,--this is my dying wish,--let it be sacred! I should of allthings like the union of our families in Augusta and your Arthur, butonly if they love each other. You will bury me side by side with Ellen.And that is all. You may call Mr. Power now."
The last Sacrament was then devotionally received by the dying man, hispastor, the Marquis, and Mr. Ravensworth. Then the Earl,
whose breathingbecame short and painful, expressed a wish to be left alone for someshort time. He kissed Augusta, and pressed the hand of his friends, whoadjourned to the ante-room, so as to be in hearing of the slightestcall. They heard his difficult breathing grow shorter and fainter, tillat last the gasps were few and very distant from each other, and thenceased to be heard.
"He must be sleeping," said the Marquis. "I will go and see."
He stole to the bedside. The Earl's hands were clasped in the attitudeof prayer, his lips slightly parted, his eyes closed,--and for ever!Through the door of his lips the breath no longer flowed. The featherheld to his mouth was unswayed,--the mirror untarnished. Without a sighhe had passed away, and had calmly sunk into his long last sleep,smiling while all around him wept.
"Weep not so, my child," said Mr. Power to Augusta, as she threw herselfon her father's breast. "Weep not so. Your papa is happy now, and inheaven with your mamma."
But the child wept on, till her uncle and grandfather gently drew herfrom the scene, each resolving he would be all to that fatherless,motherless little girl, that ever her fond parents could have been, hadthey been spared to her youthful years.
The Weird of the Wentworths: A Tale of George IV's Time, Vol. 2 Page 22