Part 25 (2/2)
The moon had sunk so low that its light had been diminished, but the reflection from the library lamp prevented total darkness. Mr.
Hargrove had not moved from the posture in which she left him, and she said very softly:
”Are you asleep?”
He made no answer, and, unwilling to arouse him, she sat down on the step to wait until he finished his nap.
As the moon went down a light breeze sprang from some blue depths of the far west, and began to skim the frail foamy clouds that drifted imperceptibly across the star-lit sky; and to the crystal fingers of the dew the numerous flowers in the garden below yielded a generous tribute of perfume that blended into a wave of varied aromas, and rolled to and fro in the cool night air. Calm, sweet and holy, the night seemed a very benison, dispensing peace.
Watching the white fire of constellations burning in the vault above her, Regina wondered whether it were a fair night far out at sea, if the same glittering stellar cl.u.s.ters swung above the deck of the n.o.ble vessel that had been for many days upon the ocean, or if the storm fiend held cyclone carnival upon the distant Atlantic.
Her thoughts wandered toward the future, that _terra incognita_ which Mr. Lindsay's vague words--”There are trials ahead of you”--had peopled with dread yet intangible phantoms, whose spectral shadows solemnly presageful, hovered over even the present. Why was her own history a sealed volume--her father a mystery--her mother a wanderer in foreign lands?
From this most unprofitable train of reflection she was gradually recalled by the restless singular behaviour of her dog. He had been lying near the table, with his head on his paws, but rose, whined, came close to his mistress and caught her sleeve between his teeth--his usual mode of attracting her attention.
”What is it, Hero? Are you hungry?”
He barked, ran to the easy chair, rubbed his nose against the pastor's hand, came back whining to Regina, and finally returning to the chair, sat down, bent his head to the pastor's feet and uttered a prolonged and dismal howl.
An undefinable horror made the girl spring toward the chair.
The sleeper had not moved, and stooping over she put her hand on his forehead. The cold damp touch terrified her, and with a cry of ”Hannah! Oh, Hannah!” she darted into the library, and seized the lamp. By its light held close to the quiet figure, she saw that the eyes were closed as in slumber, and the lips half parted, as though in dreaming he had smiled; but the features were rigid, the hands stiff and cold, and she could feel no flutter in the wrists or temples.
”Oh, my G.o.d! he is dead!” screamed Hannah, wringing her hands, and uttering a succession of shrieks, while like a statue of despair the girl stood staring almost vacantly at the white placid face of the dead. At last, shuddering from head to foot, she exclaimed:
”Run for Dr. Melville! Run, Hannah! you can go faster now than I could.”
”What is the use? He is dead! stone dead!”
”Perhaps not--he may revive. Oh, Hannah! why don't you go?”
”Leave you alone in the house--with a corpse?”
”Run--run! Tell the doctor to hurry. He may do something.”
As the old servant disappeared, Regina fell on her knees, and seizing the right hand, carried it to her lips; then began to chafe it violently between her own trembling palms.
”O Lord, spare him a little while! Spare him till his sister comes?”
She rushed into the library, procured some brandy which was kept in the medicine chest, and with the aid of a spoon tried to force some down his throat, but the muscles refused to relax, and, pouring the brandy on her handkerchief, she rubbed his face and the hand she had already chafed. In the left he tightly held the jasmine, as when he spoke to her last, and she shrank from touching those fingers.
Finding no change in the fixed white face she took off his shoes and rubbed his feet with mustard, but no effect encouraged her, and finally she sat, praying silently, holding the feet tenderly against her heart.
How long lasted that lonely vigil with the dead, she never knew. Hope deserted her, and by degrees she realized the awful truth that the arrival of the physician so impatiently expected would bring no succour. How bitterly she upbraided herself for leaving him a moment, even though in obedience to his wishes. Perhaps he had called and the organ had drowned his voice.
Had he died while she sang, and was his spirit already with G.o.d when she repeated the words ”Far away in the regions of the blest”? When she came on tiptoe, and asked, ”Are you asleep?” was he indeed verily ”Asleep in Jesus”? While she waited, fearful of disturbing his slumber, was his released and rejoicing soul nearing the pearly battlements of the City of Rest, lead by G.o.d's most pitying and tender angel, loving yet silent Death?
When will humanity reject and disown the hideous, ruthless monster its own disordered fancy fas.h.i.+oned, and accept instead the beautiful Oriental Azrael, the most ancient ”Help of G.o.d,” who is sent in infinite mercy to guide the weary soul into the blessed realm of Peace?
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