Dawn
Page 14
That night, or rather just before dawn on the following morning,Hilda, knowing that her end was very near, sent for her husband.
"Go quickly, doctor," she said. "I shall die at dawn."
The doctor found him seated in the same spot where Maria Lee had lefthim.
"What, more misery!" he said, when he had told his errand. "I cannotbear it. There is a curse upon me--death and wickedness, misery anddeath!"
"You must come if you wish to see your wife alive."
"I will come;" and he rose and followed him.
A sad sight awaited him. The moment of the grey dawn was drawing near,and, by his wife's request, a window had been unshuttered, that herdimmed eyes might once more look upon the light. On the great bed inthe centre of the room lay Hilda, whose life was now quickly drainingfrom her, and by her side was placed the sleeping infant. She wasraised and supported on either side by pillows, and her unbound goldenhair fell around her shoulders, enclosing her face as in a frame. Herpallid countenance seemed touched with an awful beauty that had notbelonged to it in life, whilst in her eyes was that dread andprescient gaze which sometimes come to those who are about to solvedeath's mystery.
By the side of the bed knelt Mr. Fraser, the clergyman of the parish,repeating in an earnest tone the prayers for the dying, whilst thesad-faced attendants moved with muffled tread backwards and forwardsfrom the ring of light around the bed into the dark shadows that laybeyond.
When Philip came, the clergyman ceased praying, and drew back into thefurther part of the room, as did Pigott and the nurse, the formertaking the baby with her.
Hilda motioned to him to come close to her. He came, and bent over andkissed her, and she, with an effort, threw one ivory arm around hisneck, and smiled sweetly. After about a minute, during which she wasapparently collecting her thoughts, she spoke in a low voice, and inher native tongue.
"I have not sent for you before, Philip, for two reasons--first,because I wished to spare you pain; and next, in order that I mighthave time to rid my mind of angry thoughts against you. They are allgone now--gone with every other earthly interest; but I _was_ angrywith you, Philip. And now listen to me--for I have not much time--anddo not forget my words in future years, when the story of my life willseem but as a shadow that once fell upon your path. Change your ways,Philip dear, abandon deceit, atone for the past; if you can, make yourpeace with Maria Lee, and marry her--ah! it is a pity that you did notdo that at first, and leave me to go my ways--and, above all, humbleyour heart before the Power that I am about to face. I love you, dear,and, notwithstanding all, I am thankful to have been your wife. PleaseGod, we shall meet again."
She paused awhile, and then spoke in English. To the astonishment ofall, her voice was strong and clear, and she uttered her words with anenergy that, under the circumstances, seemed almost awful.
"Tell her to bring the child."
There was no need for Philip to repeat what she said, for Pigott heardher, and at once came forward with the baby, which she laid besideher.
The dying woman placed her hand upon its tiny head, and, turning hereyes upwards with the rapt expression of one who sees a vision, said--
"May the power of God be about you to protect you, my motherless babe,may angels guard you, and make you as they are; and may the heavycurse and everlasting doom of the Almighty fall upon those who wouldbring evil upon you."
She paused, and then addressed her husband.
"Philip, you have heard my words; in your charge I leave the child,see that you never betray my trust."
Then, turning to Pigott, she said, in a fainter voice--
"Thank you for your kindness to me. You have a good face; if you can,stop with my child, and give her your love and care. And now, may Godhave mercy on my soul!"
Then came a minute's silence, broken only by the stifled sobs of thosewho stood around, till a ray of light from the rising sun struggledthrough the grey mist of the morning, and, touching the heads ofmother and child, illumined them as with a glory. It passed as quicklyas it came, drawing away with it the mother's life. Suddenly, as itfaded, she spread out her arms, sighed, and smiled. When the doctorreached the bed, her story was told: she had fallen asleep.
Death had been very gentle with her.