Part 61 (1/2)

Miss Ramsey went noiselessly into an adjoining room and came back, a gla.s.s in her hand. From across the hall a clock struck.

Suddenly Mariana opened her eyes, moaning in short sobs. A blue wave was rising over her face, deepening into tones of violet beneath the shadows of her eyes. They measured the medicine and gave it to her and she lay quiet again. He put his arm across her.

”Anthony!” she said.

He bent his ear.

”My beloved?”

”Hold me, the bed is going down. My head is so low.”

He caught her pa.s.sionately, his kisses falling distractedly upon her eyes, her lips, the lace upon her breast, and her cold hands.

”And you do love me?”

”Love you?” he answered, fiercely. ”Have I ever loved anything else? O my love! My love!”

His tears stung her face like fire.

”Don't,” she said, gently; and then, ”It would have been very nice, the little farm in the South, and the peaches, and the cows in the pastures, but,” she smiled, ”I am not very thrifty--the peaches would have rotted where they fell, and the cows would never have been milked.”

”Mariana!”

She lay in his arms, and they were both silent.

The clock struck again. In the street a pa.s.ser-by was whistling ”Oh, Nellie's blue eyes.”

She spoke drowsily: ”Speak softly. You will wake the baby.”

In the glimmer of dawn Salvers entered. A sombre mist penetrated the curtains at the windows, and in the grate a heap of embers reddened and waned and reddened and waned again. A light dust had settled over the room, over the mantel, the furniture, and the blankets on the bed--a fine gray powder, pale like the ashes of yesterday's flame.

He crossed to the bed and took Mariana from Anthony's arms. Her head fell back and the violet shadows in her face had frozen into marble. She was smiling faintly.

”My G.o.d!” said Salvers, in a whisper. ”She has been dead--for hours.”

He laid her down and turned to the man beside him, looking at him for a moment without speaking. Then he laid his hand upon his arm and spoke to him as if to a child. ”You must go home,” he said, emphasizing the syllables. ”It is over. You can do no good. You must go home.”

The other shook his head. His eyes were blank, like those of a man in whom the springs of thought have been suddenly paralyzed.

”You must go home,” repeated Salvers, his hand still upon his arm. ”I will be with you in an hour. You must go.”

Beneath his touch Anthony moved slowly into the hall, descending the stairs mechanically. Salvers gave him his hat and opened the outer door.