Volume Ii Part 13 (1/2)

She slept indeed--how fast, how well, one look alone sufficed to reveal!

But Eustace's eye turned not from the gaze which had first fixed itself upon that marble brow.

”He gazed--how long we gaze in spite of pain, And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain.

In life itself she was so still and fair, That death with gentler aspect withered there.”

The long faded beauty of her youth seemed to have returned to Mrs.

Trevor's countenance, as there in ”the rapture of repose,” she lay.

Yet the son's eye became glazed in its intensity, as if the sight was one of horror and fearfulness, whilst the hue of the cold sleeper's cheek, was life, and health, and beauty, compared with that which settled on his face.

A female servant of the establishment came and found him still standing thus. The woman's startled alarm at first was great. To behold that tall statue-like figure in the chamber she had left, deserted by all living.

But any weak demonstration of her fear was awed into reason and collectiveness, by the recognition of her dead mistress' son, who at length, as she stood transfixed in her first paroxism of terror to the spot, turned his face towards her, revealing a countenance on which no pa.s.sionate emotion, no strong grief, nothing but a stern, fearful composure, was visible, and demanded in a low, hollow voice:

”When did she die?”

”This morning at nine o'clock,” the woman answered, weeping.

”It was enough--she died; what reck'd it how?”

Eustace waved his hand in sign for her to depart. She obeyed immediately, closing the door instinctively behind her; seeming at once to feel and understand that he who had most right to command, within that chamber, had arrived.

And all through the lonely watches of that night; lock and bolt from within, secured, shut out from all intrusion, the agonized communion of the living with the peaceful sorrowless dead. The living in his agony which no tongue could tell; the dead, whose life might have been called one long painful sigh--one sympathetic groan, lying there, serene, senseless, smiling on his pain. But too great had been the shock of the deep waters which now overwhelmed his soul, for Eustace Trevor to consider, and bless G.o.d that it was so. He that but an hour before had come on his way rejoicing--his spirit lifted up as it were on eagles'

wings, ”from this dim spot which men call earth,” to heaven, now was as a crushed worm--a broken reed,--stricken to the ground in hopeless, powerless despair!

”Why hast thou smitten me, and there is no healing for me? I looked for peace and there is no good; for the time of healing, and behold trouble!”

Such is man in his best estate; his highest strength is weakness--altogether vanity. Let the Almighty call forth his storm to break upon his head; let him wither his gourd--his spirit faints, and is ready to die.

CHAPTER XVI.

Oh wretch! without a tear, without a thought, Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought.

Look on thy earthly victims and despair.

BYRON.

When the morning arrived, some one came knocking for admittance at the door of the chamber of death. The knock was several times repeated before it gained any answer or attention; but finally a slow and heavy tread was heard traversing the apartment; the bolt was feebly drawn, the door opened, and Eustace Trevor stood face to face with Mabel Marryott.

Prepared as she was for this meeting, and in some degree for its being one of no pleasing nature, the woman could not but recoil before the wan and haggard countenance which presented itself to her view.

Her stony eye shrunk--her bloodless heart quailed at first sight of those signs of mighty grief which one night's agony had imprinted there.

But perhaps it was not so much his appearance as the glance, Eustace, still holding the door in his hand, fixed upon her, which thus affected her; and he, favoured by this movement on her part, was about, without the utterance of a word, again to close the door in her face, when quickly recovering from her momentary weakness she prevented the action, by stepping quickly forward, and attempted to pa.s.s him by. But no; firmly he remained within the doorway, effectually frustrating any such endeavour. Mabel Marryott looked at him with an air of affected surprise, her cool, unabashed demeanour perfectly restored.

”Mr. Eustace,” she said, and there was an insolent tinge of patronising pity in her tone; ”will you allow me, Sir?”