Part 95 (1/2)

The time came when Philip was wanted. Amabel had called in Anne and the clergyman's brother, and went to fetch her cousin. He was where she had left him in the sitting-room, his face hidden in his arms, crossed on the table, the whole man crushed, bowed down, overwhelmed with remorse.

'We are ready. Come, Philip.'

'I cannot; I am not worthy,' he answered, not looking up.

'Nay, you are surely in no uncharitableness with him now,' said she, gently.

A shudder expressed his no.

'And if you are sorry--that is repentance--more fit now than ever--Won't you come? Would you grieve him now?'

'You take it on yourself, then,' said Philip, almost sharply, raising his haggard face.

She did not shrink, and answered, 'A broken and contrite heart, O G.o.d, Thou wilt not despise.'

It was a drop of balm, a softening drop. He rose, and trembling from head to foot, from the excess of his agitation, followed her into Guy's room.

The rite was over, and stillness succeeded the low tones, while all knelt in their places. Amabel arose first, for Guy, though serene, looked greatly exhausted, and as she sprinkled him with vinegar, the others stood up. Guy looked for Philip, and held out his hand. Whether it was his gentle force, or of Philip's own accord Amabel could not tell; but as he lay with that look of perfect peace and love, Philip bent down over him and kissed his forehead.

'Thank you!' he faintly whispered. 'Good night. G.o.d bless you and my sister.'

Philip went, and he added to Amy, 'Poor fellow! It will be worse for him than for you. You must take care of him.'

She hardly heard the last words, for his head sunk on one side in a deathlike faintness, the room was cleared of all but herself, and Anne fetched the physician at once.

At length it pa.s.sed off, and Guy slept. The doctor felt his pulse, and she asked his opinion of it. Very low and unequal, she was told: his strength was failing, and there seemed to be no power of rallying it, but they must do their best to support him with cordials, according to the state of his pulse. The physician could not remain all night himself, but would come as soon as he could on the following day.

Amabel hardly knew when it was that he went away; the two Mr. Morrises went to the other hotel; and she made her evening visit to Philip. It was all like a dream, which she could afterwards scarcely remember, till night had come on, and for the first time she found herself allowed to keep watch over her husband.

He had slept quietly for some time, when she roused him to give him some wine, as she was desired to do constantly. He smiled, and said, 'Is no one here but you?'

'No one.'

'My own sweet wife, my Verena, as you have always been. We have been very happy together.'

'Indeed we have,' said she, a look of suffering crossing her face, as she thought of their unclouded happiness. 'It will not be so long before we meet again.'

'A few months, perhaps'--said Amabel, in a stifled voice, 'like your mother--'

'No, don't wish that, Amy. You would not wish it to have no mother.'

'You will pray--' She could say no more, but struggled for calmness.

'Yes,' he answered, 'I trust you to it and to mamma for comfort. And Charlie--I shall not rob him any longer. I only borrowed you for a little while,' he added, smiling. 'In a little while we shall meet.

Years and months seem alike now. I am sorry to cause you so much grief, my Amy, but it is all as it should be, and we have been very happy.'

Amy listened, her eyes intently fixed on him, unable to repress her agitation, except by silence. After some little time, he spoke again.

'My love to Charlie--and Laura--and Charlotte, my brother and sisters.