Part 30 (2/2)

The slow minutes pa.s.sed, taking with them all the tattered remnants of her hope; and little by little it seemed to her in her pain that unseen hands were pus.h.i.+ng her farther and farther from him, building a barrier between them--a tangible thing which she had only to stretch out her hands to feel, setting her outside his ken.

The man she loved was going from her, leaving in his place a stranger she had never known. Francis had been so near to her in their love, had never glanced at her except with tenderness and welcome; for her his voice had ever taken a deeply tender tone. Who was this stern, aged man who looked at her with veiled eyes, and spoke in a voice she did not know, and which bore little resemblance to the one which had thrilled her to pa.s.sionate devotion?

Never again would she know the rapture of his kiss, the exquisite security of his enfolding arm. The To-come was before her--bleak, grey and bereft; the roseate hues of love's delight lay all in the Gone-by.

Her love was of no avail. It had fluttered back to her, a wounded, helpless thing.

The striking of the clock roused her at last. It was the hour at which she usually bade him good-night, and she rose from her chair.

Following her habit she crossed the room and rang the bell. When she turned again Francis too had risen, and he took a few steps towards her.

”My dear,” he said gently, ”if I have been selfish in my great sorrow, will you forgive me? Believe me I am not ungrateful for your care and devotion, but it seems to me it would have been a more real kindness to have told me the truth. Perhaps I am wrong--I cannot think clearly to-night--I am very tired, and everything is very dark--perhaps to-morrow will bring light.”

He held her hand for a moment and then released it. His eyes wandered to the picture which stood on the easel in its accustomed place. He moved towards it and stood looking down at it in silence.

And so she left him.

It was old Goodie who found him next morning. She entered his room with his cup of tea, prepared just as he liked it, ”with two lumps of sugar and a dash of cream”--and then she saw----

He was lying cold and still, his hands folded on his breast, in the peace which pa.s.seth understanding. The morrow had brought light.

”The sorrow ends, for life and death have ceased.

How should lamps flicker when the oil is spent?

The old sad count is clear, the new is clean.

Thus hath a man content.”

THE END

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