Part 139 (1/2)
”That's not mamma,” she said, bursting into tears.
George sat down on a chair close by, and laid her wet cheek against his, and hid his eyes amidst her curls. His emotion had spent itself in the long night, and he thought he could control it now.
”That is mamma, Meta; your mother and my dear wife. It is all that is left of her. Oh, Meta! if we had only known earlier that she was going to die!”
”It does not look like mamma.”
”The moment death comes, the change begins. It has begun in mamma. Do you understand me, Meta? In a few days I shall hear read over her by your grandpapa----” George stopped: it suddenly occurred to him that the Reverend Mr. Hastings would not officiate this time; and he amended his sentence. ”I shall hear read over her the words she has I know often read to you; how the corruptible body must die, and be buried in the earth as a grain of wheat is, ere it can be changed and put on immortality.”
”Will she never come again?” sobbed Meta.
”Never here, never again. We shall go to her.”
Meta sobbed on. ”I want mamma! I want mamma, who talked to me and nursed me. Mamma loved us.”
”Yes, she loved us,” he said, his heart wrung with the recollection of the past: ”we shall never find any one else to love us as she loved.
Meta, child, listen! Mamma lives still; she is looking down from heaven now, and sees and hears us; she loves us, and will love us for ever. And when our turn shall come to die, I hope--I hope--we shall have learnt all that she has learnt, so that G.o.d may take us to her.”
It was of no use prolonging the scene: George still questioned his judgment in allowing Meta to enter upon it. But as he rose to carry her away, the child turned her head with a sharp eager motion to take a last look. A last look at the still form, the dead face of her who yesterday only had been as they were.
Margery had that instant come in, and was standing in her bonnet in the sitting-room. To describe her face of surprised consternation when she saw Meta carried out of the chamber, would take time and trouble. ”You can dress her, Margery,” George said, giving the child into her arms.
But for his subdued tones, and the evident emotion which lay upon him all too palpably in spite of his efforts to suppress it, Margery might have given her private opinion of the existing state of things. As it was, she confined her anger to dumb-show. Jerking Meta to her, with a half fond, half fierce gesture, she lifted her hand in dismay at sight of the naked feet, turned her own gown up, and flung it over them.
CHAPTER VIII.
A SAD PARTING.
Again another funeral in All Souls' Church, another opening of the vault of the G.o.dolphins! But it was not All Souls' Rector to officiate this time; he stood at the grave with George. Isaac Hastings had come down from London, Harry had come from his tutors.h.i.+p; Lord Averil was again there, and Mr. Crosse had asked to attend. Prior's Ash looked out on the funeral with regretful eyes, saying one to another, what a sad thing it was for her, only twenty-eight, to die.
George G.o.dolphin, contriving to maintain an outward calmness, turned away when it was over. Not yet to the mourning-coach that waited for him, but through the little gate leading to the Rectory. He was about to leave Prior's Ash for good that night, and common courtesy demanded that he should say a word of farewell to Mrs. Hastings.
In the darkened drawing-room with Grace and Rose, in their new mourning attire, sat Mrs. Hastings: George G.o.dolphin half started back as they rose to greet him. He did not stay to sit: he stood by the fireplace, his hat in his hand, its flowing c.r.a.pe almost touching the ground.
”I will say good-bye to you, now, Mrs. Hastings.”
”You really leave to-night?”
”By the seven o'clock train. Will you permit me to express my hope that a brighter time may yet dawn for you; to a.s.sure you that no effort on my part shall be spared to conduce to it?”
He spoke in a low, quiet, meaning tone, and he held her hand between his. Mrs. Hastings could not misunderstand him--that he was hinting at a hope of reimbursing somewhat of their pecuniary loss.
”Thank you for your good wishes,” she said, keeping down the tears. ”You will allow me--you will speak to Lady Averil to allow me to have the child here for a day sometimes?”
”Need you ask it?” he answered, a generous warmth in his tone. ”Cecil, I am quite sure, recognizes your right in the child at least in an equal degree with her own, and is glad to recognize it. Fare you well; fare you well, dear Mrs. Hastings.”
He went out, shaking hands with Grace and Rose as he pa.s.sed, thinking how much he had always liked Mrs. Hastings, with her courteous manners and gentle voice, so like those of his lost wife. The Rector met him in the pa.s.sage, and George held out his hand.