Part 33 (1/2)
The Duke's answer was in his haughtiest manner. ”I a.s.sure you of my regret, holy Father. Necessity has no law.”
”And no compa.s.sion?”
”Jean, my Jean! Only one minute more--one minute cannot be of importance. My little lad, my best-loved! lay thy lips to mine, and say thou lovest thine old mother, and let me bless thee, and then go, if it must be, and I will die.”
Amphillis wondered that the piteous pa.s.sion of love in the tones of the poor mother did not break down entirely the haughty coldness of the royal son. The Duke did indeed bend his stately knee, and touch his mother's lips with his, but there was no shadow of response to her clinging clasp, no warmth, however faint, in the kiss into which she poured her whole heart.
”Jean, little Jean! say thou lovest me?”
”Madame, it is a son's duty. I pray your blessing.”
”I bless thee with my whole heart!” she said. ”I pray G.o.d bless thee in every hour of thy life, grant thee health, happiness, and victory, and crown thee at last with everlasting bliss. Now go, my dear heart! The old mother will not keep thee to thy hurt. G.o.d be with thee, and bless thee!”
Even then he did not linger; he did not even give her, unsolicited, one last kiss. She raised herself on one side, to look after him and listen to him to the latest moment, the light still beaming in her sunken eyes.
His parting words were not addressed to her, but she heard them.
”Now then, Du Chatel,” said the Duke to his squire in the corridor, ”let us waste no more time. This irksome duty done, I would be away immediately, lest I be called back.”
The light died out of the eager eyes, and the old white head sank back upon the pillow, the face turned away from the watchers. Amphillis approached her, and tenderly smoothed the satin coverlet.
”Let be!” she said, in a low voice. ”My heart is broken.”
Amphillis, who could scarcely restrain her own sobs, glanced at the Archbishop for direction. He answered her by pressing a finger on his lips. Perrote came in, her lips set, and her brows drawn. She had evidently overheard those significant words. Then they heard the tramp of the horses in the courtyard, the sound of the trumpet, the cry of ”Notre Dame de Gwengamp!” and they knew that the Duke was departing.
They did not know, however, that the parting guest was sped by a few exceedingly scathing words from his sister, who had heard his remark to the squire. She informed him, in conclusion, that he could strike off her head, if he had no compunction in staining his spotless ermine banner with his own kindly blood. It would make very little difference to her, and, judging by the way in which he used his dying mother, she was sure it could make none to him.
The Duke flung himself into his saddle, and dashed off down the slope from the gate without deigning either a response or a farewell.
As the Archbishop left the Countess's chamber, he beckoned Amphillis into the corridor.
”I tarry not,” said he, ”for I can work no good now. This is not the time. A stricken heart hath none ears. Leave her be, and leave her to G.o.d. I go to pray Him to speak to her that comfort which she may receive alone from Him. None other can do her any help. To-morrow, maybe--when the vexed brain hath slept, and gentle time hath somewhat dulled the first sharp edge of her cruel sorrow--then I may speak and be heard. But now she is in that valley of the shadow, where no voice can reach her save that which once said, 'Lazarus, come forth!' and which the dead shall hear in their graves at the last day.”
”G.o.d comfort her, poor Lady!” said Amphillis. ”Ay, G.o.d comfort her!”
And the Archbishop pa.s.sed on.
He made no further attempt to enter the invalid chamber until the evening of the next day, when he came in very softly, after a word with Perrote--no part of any house was ever closed against a priest--and sat down by the sufferer. She lay much as he had left her. He offered no greeting, but took out his Evangelistarium from the pocket of his ca.s.sock, and began to read in a low, calm voice.
”'The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, for He hath anointed Me; He hath sent Me to evangelise the poor, to heal the contrite in heart, to preach liberty to the captives and sight to the blind, to set the bruised at liberty, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of retribution.'” [Luke four, verses 18, 19, Vulgate version.]
There was no sound in answer. The Archbishop turned over a few leaves.
”'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy-laden, and I will refresh you.' [Matthew nine, verse 28.] 'And G.o.d shall dry all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor clamour, nor shall there be any more pain.' [Revelations twenty-one, verse 4.] 'Trouble not your heart: believe in G.o.d, and believe in Me.'
'Peace I bequeath to you, My peace I give to you: not as the world giveth, give I to you. Trouble not your heart, neither be it afraid.'
[John fourteen, verses 1, 27.] 'Whom the Lord loveth, He chastiseth; and whippeth also every son whom He receiveth.'” [Hebrews twelve, verse 6.]
He read or quoted from memory, as pa.s.sages occurred to him. When he had reached this point he made a pause. A deep sigh answered him, but no words.
”'And he looked round about on them which sat about Him, and said, Behold My mother and My brethren! For whosoever shall do the will of G.o.d, the same is My brother, and My sister, and mother.'”
”I dare say He kissed His mother!” said the low plaintive voice. She evidently knew of whom the reader spoke. ”The world giveth not much peace. 'Heavy-laden!' ay, heavy-laden! 'Thou hast removed from me friend and neighbour.' I have lost my liberty, and I am losing my life; and now--G.o.d have mercy on me!--I have lost my son.”