CHAPTER XIX.
THE SICK ROOM.
If ever angels walked on weary earth
In human likeness, thou wert one of them.
Thy native heaven was with thee, but subdued
By suffering life's inevitable lot;
But the sweet spirit did assert its home
By faith and hope, and only owned its yoke
In the strong love that bound it to its kind.
The cold gray light of the morning was struggling through the closed windows, and making the mournful light of a sick room yet more mournful; around were signs of recent festivity, in strange contrast to the ghastly present. The wax lights were slowly burning down; on the dressing-table, and before the mirror, were scattered a thousand gay toys and trifles. Flasks of precious scents, left open in the hurry, made the atmosphere heavy with perfume, while gems of immense value were laid carelessly among them.
The dress of the preceding evening had been flung on a chair near, and on the floor was a bouquet of rare, but faded flowers, and a glittering fan; but the glitter of the fan was stained with red blood-spots. What now were the graceful vanities of the night? Nothing, or less than nothing! Wrapped in a white dressing-gown, which had been hastily thrown round her, her hair loosened from its confinement, but with some of the neglected jewels yet shining in it, lay Constance Norbourne. Life was fast ebbing away, and the physician had said that there was no hope. There she lay, white as the pillow on which she rested for the last time; a dull film had gathered over the eyes which yet dwelt lovingly on the friends beside her; and her fallen mouth, with the faint purple circle around it, indicated the near approach of death. Lady Marchmont, still in the gay costume of the preceding night, sat on the bed, and supported the head of her dying friend; while Norbourne knelt beside, holding the wan hand, whose pulsation grew feebler every moment. Lord Norbourne stood beside, and watched his last, his most beloved child, dying before him; his last hope, his last sweet link of affection breaking.
"It cannot be!" exclaimed he, in a burst of uncontrollable emotion: "so young, so very young, to die! Tell me that your skill can save her, and take all I have in the world!"
The physician took his hand, and strove to draw him aside; but the attempt caught the eye of the sufferer; she strove to raise herself, and extend her hand to her father, but it dropped heavily on the coverlid.
"Let him stay!" said she, faintly; and, looking towards the physician, continued: "I know I am dying, but death is not yet in my heart. Can you not give me a moment's strength? any thing to dispel, for a little while, this faint sickness? A few words are all I want to say, I cannot die without saying them!"
"Let her have her own way," whispered the medical man; and, pouring a few restorative drops into a glass of water, he held it to her lips, while Lady Marchmont bathed her temples with essence.
Either they they revived her, or expiring nature felt the unconquerable strength of love mighty even to the last. She sat half upright, supported on Henrietta's shoulder; and, taking her father's hand, she clasped it with her husband's.
"He will be your child," said she: "my remembrance will be the link to bind you together. My beloved father, you owe him a debt only affection can repay. Think how kind he has always been to your wearied and suffering child: night after night he has watched over me; day after day he has given up pleasures and occupations to yield me the only enjoyment of which I was capable—the conscious happiness of his presence. And you, dearest Norbourne, will you not cling to his old age like a dear and only son? Love him, were it only for the great love that I have borne unto you!"
Again her head dropped on the pillow, and her father and husband felt the hands that had clasped theirs relax their faint pressure, and again Henrietta wiped away the cold dews that stood on her forehead. She lay for some minutes motionless, save when the heavy eyelids were slowly raised, and her dim eyes yet dwelt fondly on those who watched her least movement. All at once her eyes kindled, and she again raised herself, with a little of Henrietta's instant assistance. Constance put her hand under the pillow, and drew from thence a small Bible.
"Father!" exclaimed she, "this has been my constant companion, let it henceforth be yours. May it teach you, even as it has taught me, the blessed hope in which I die: we shall meet again in a happier and a better world! Henrietta, dear and kind friend, think some times of the peace and faith which support me even in death. Father, my beloved father! could I leave you as I do, with words of comfort, but for that Divine belief whose trust is immortal! God bless you!"
She sank back, fainting; but this time it was Norbourne's arm that supported her: once again her eyes unclosed, and fixed on her husband's face with an expression of the most utter tenderness: from thence they never moved again. The eyelids closed wearily, and there was a convulsive movement of the hands; then came a frightful stillness, broken by a low gurgling in the throat. The mouth fell; the hand Lord Norbourne elapsed grew still and rigid; her husband bent over her, and touched her lips—they were ice—it was a corpse that he held in his arms.