Part 137 (2/2)

Jean remained silent after this rebuff and attended to her tea, which she could not get sufficiently cool to drink comfortably. She had been an inferior servant to Margery at Ashlydyat, in a measure under her control; and she still deferred to her in manner. Presently she began again.

”It's a curious complaint that your mistress has died of, Margery.

Leastways it has a curious name. I made bold to ask Dr. Beale to-night what it was, when I went to open the gate for him, and he called it--what was it?--atrophy. Atrophy: that was it. They could not at all cla.s.s the disease of which Mrs. George G.o.dolphin had died, he said, and were content to call it atrophy for want of a better name. I took leave to say that I didn't understand the word, and he explained that it meant a gradual wasting away of the system without apparent cause.”

Margery did not reply for the moment: she was swelling with displeasure.

”Margery, what _is_ atrophy, for I don't understand it a bit?”

”It's rubbish,” flashed Margery--”as applied to my poor dear mistress.

She has died of the trouble--that she couldn't speak of--that has eaten into her heart and cankered there--and broke it at the last. Atrophy!

but those doctors must put a name to everything. Jean, woman, I have been with her all through it, and I tell you that it's the _trouble_ that has killed her. She has had it on all sides, has felt it in more ways than the world gives her credit for. She never opened her lips to me about a thing--and perhaps it had been better if she had--but I have my eyes in my head, and I could see what it was doing for her. As I lay down in my clothes on this very sofa last night, for it wasn't up to my bed I went, with her so ill, I couldn't help thinking to myself, that if she could but have broken the ice and talked of her sorrows they might have worn off in time. It is burying the grief within people's own b.r.e.a.s.t.s that kills them.”

Jean was silent. Margery began turning the grounds in her empty tea-cup round and round, staring dreamily at the forms they a.s.sumed.

”Hark!” cried Jean.

A sound was heard in the next room. Margery started from her chair and softly opened the door. But it was only her master, who had gone round the bed and was leaning over Meta. Margery closed the door again.

George had come to the conclusion that the child would be best in bed.

Meta was lying perfectly still, looking earnestly at her mamma's face, so soon, so soon to be lost to her. He drew the hair from her brow as he spoke.

”You will be very tired, Meta. I think you must go to bed.”

For answer Meta broke into a pa.s.sionate storm of sobs. They roused Maria from her pa.s.sive silence.

”Meta--darling,” came forth the isolated words in the difficulty of her laboured breath--”I am going away, but you will come to me. You will be sure to come to me, for G.o.d has promised. I seem to have had the promise given to me, to hold it, now, and I shall carry it away with me. I am going to heaven. When the blind was drawn up yesterday morning and I saw the snow, it made me s.h.i.+ver, but I said there will be no snow in heaven.

Meta, there will be only spring there; no sultry heat of summer, no keen winter's cold. Oh, my child! try to come to me, try always! I shall keep a place for you.”

The minutes went on: the spirit fleeting, George watching with his aching heart. Soon she spoke again.

”Has it struck twelve?”

”Ten minutes ago.”

”Then it is my birthday. I am twenty-eight to-day. It is young to die!”

Young to die! Yes, it was young to die: but there are some who can count time by sorrow, not by years.

”Don't grieve, George. It will pa.s.s so very soon, and you will come to me. Clad in our white robes, we shall rise at the Last Day to eternal life, and be together for ever and for ever.”

The tears were dropping from his eyes. The grief of the present, the anguish of the parting, the remorse for the irrevocable past, in which he might have cherished her more tenderly had he foreseen this, and did not, were all too present to him. He laid his face on hers with a bitter cry.

”Forgive me before you go! Oh, my darling, forgive me all!”

<script>