Part 32 (2/2)

So, at last, pa.s.sing many sad and strange scenes that need not be described, they came safely to the steps of the amba.s.sador's beautiful house which was quite uninjured. Here they found several of his servants wringing their hands and weeping, for word had been brought to them that he was dead. Also in the hall they were met by another woe, for there on a couch lay stretched the Lady Carleon smitten with some dread sickness which caused blood to flow from her mouth and ears. A physician was bending over her, for by good fortune one had been found.

Sir Geoffrey asked him what ailed his wife. He answered that he did not know, having never seen the like till that morning, when he had been called in to attend three such cases in houses far apart, whereof one died within ten minutes of being struck.

Just then Lady Carleon's senses returned, and opening her eyes she saw Sir Geoffrey, whom they had laid down upon another couch close to her.

”Oh, they told me that you were dead, husband,” she said, ”crushed or swallowed in the earthquake! But I thank G.o.d they lied. Yet what ails you, sweetheart, that you do not stand upon your feet?”

”Little, dear wife, little,” he answered in a cheerful voice. ”My foot is somewhat crushed, that is all. Still 'tis true that had it not been for this brave knight and his squire I must have lain where I was till I perished.”

Now Lady Carleon raised herself slightly and looked at Hugh and d.i.c.k, who stood together, bewildered and overwhelmed.

”Heaven's blessings be on your heads,” she exclaimed, ”for these Venetians would surely have left him to his doom. Ah, I thought that it was you who must die to-day, but now I know it is I, and perchance my lord. Physician,” she added after a pause, ”trouble not with me, for my hour has come; I feel it at my heart. Tend my lord there, who, unless this foul sickness takes him also, may yet be saved.”

So they carried them both to their own large sleeping chamber on the upper floor. There the surgeon set Sir Geoffrey's broken bone skilfully enough, though when he saw the state of the crushed limb, he shook his head and said it would be best to cut it off. This, however, Sir Geoffrey would not suffer to be done.

”It will kill me, I am sure, or if not, then the pest which that s.h.i.+p, _Light of the East_, has brought here from Cyprus, will do its work on me. But I care nothing, for since you say that my wife must die I would die with her and be at rest.”

At sunset Lady Carleon died. Ere she pa.s.sed away she sent for Hugh and d.i.c.k. Her bed by her command had been moved to an open window, for she seemed to crave air. By it was placed that of Sir Geoffrey so that the two of them could hold each other's hand.

”I would die looking toward England, Sir Hugh,” she said, with a faint smile, ”though alas! I may not sleep in that churchyard on the Suss.e.x downs where I had hoped that I might lie at last. Now, Sir Hugh, I pray this of your Christian charity and by the English blood which runs in us, that you will swear to me that you and your squire will not leave my lord alone among these Southern folk, but that you will bide with him and nurse him till he recovers or dies, as G.o.d may will. Also that you will see me buried by the bones of my child--they will tell you where.”

”Wife,” broke in Sir Geoffrey, ”this knight is not of our kin. Doubtless he has business elsewhere. How can he bide with me here, mayhap for weeks?”

But Lady Carleon, who could speak no more, only looked at Hugh, who answered:

”Fear nothing. Here we will stay until he recovers--unless,” he added, ”we ourselves should die.”

She smiled at him gratefully, then turned her face toward Sir Geoffrey and pressed his hand. So presently she pa.s.sed away, the tears running from her faded eyes.

When it was over and the women had covered her, Hugh and d.i.c.k left the room, for they could bear no more.

”I have seen sad sights,” said Hugh, with something like a sob, ”but never before one so sad.”

”Ay,” answered d.i.c.k, ”that of the wounded dying on Crecy field was a May Day revel compared to this, though it is but one old woman who has gone.

Oh, how heavily they parted who have dwelt together these forty years!

And 'twas my careless tongue this morning that foretold it as a jest!”

In the hall they met the physician, who rushed wild-eyed through the doorway to ask how his patients fared.

”Ah!” he said to them in French when he knew. ”Well, signors, that n.o.ble lady has not gone alone. I tell you that scores of whom I know are already dead in Venice, swept off by this swift and horrible plague.

Death and all his angels stalk through the city. They say that he himself appeared last night, and this morning on the tilting ground by the quay, and by G.o.d's mercy--if He has any left for us--I can well believe it. The Doge and his Council but now have issued a decree that all who perish must be buried at once. See to it, signors, lest the officers come and bear her away to some common grave, from which her rank will not protect her.”

Then he went to visit Sir Geoffrey. Returning presently, he gave them some directions as to his treatment, and rushed out as he had rushed in.

They never saw him again. Two days later they learned that he himself was dead of the pest.

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