A Love Story Part 22

She tried to raise an ebony cross hung round her neck.

In the effort, her features became convulsed--and George heard a low gurgling in the throat, as from suffocation.

Ah! that awful precursor of "the first dark hour of nothingness."

George Delme sprang to his feet, and was supporting her head, when the physician grasped his arm.

"Stop! stop! you are preventing"----

The lower lip quivered--and drooped--slightly! very slightly!

The head fell back.

One long deep drawn sigh shook the exhausted frame.

The face seemed to become fixed.

Doctor Pormont extended his hand, and silently closed those dark fringed lids.

The cold finger, with its harsh touch, once more brought consciousness.

Once more the lid trembled! there was an upward glance that looked reproachful!

Another short sigh! Another!

l.u.s.treless and glaring was that once bright eye!

Again the physician extended his hand.

"a.s.suredly, gentlemen! vitality hath departed!"

A deep--solemn--awful silence--which not a breath disturbed--came over that chamber of death.

It seemed as if the insects had ceased their hum--that twilight had suddenly turned to night--that an odour, as of clay, was floating around them, and impregnating the very atmosphere.

George took the guitar, whose chords were never more to be woke to harmony by that loved hand, and dashed it to the ground.

Ere Delme could clasp him, he had staggered to the bedside--and fallen over Acme's still form.

And did her frame thrill with rapture? did she bound to his caress? did her lip falter from her grateful emotion?--did she bury his cheek in her raven tresses?

No, no! still--still--still were all these! still as death!

Chapter IV.

Rome.

"Woe unto us, not her; for she sleeps well."

"The Niobe of nations! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; An empty urn within her wither'd hands, Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago.

The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now; The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers; dost thou flow, Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness?

Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress."

Undertakers! not one word shall henceforth pa.s.s our lips in your dispraise!

An useful and meritorious tribe are you!

What! though sleek and rosy cheeked, you seem to have little in common with the wreck of our hopes?

What! if our ears be shocked by profane jests on the weight of your burden, as you bear away from the accustomed mansion, what _was_ its light and its load star--but what _is_--pent up in your dark, narrow tenement, but--

"A heap, To make men tremble, that never weep."

What! if our swimming eye--as we follow those dear--dear remains to their last lone resting place--glance on the heartless myrmidons, who salute the pa.s.ser by with nods of recognition, and smiles of indifference?

What! if, returning homewards--choked with bitter recollections, which rise fantastic, quick, and ill-defined--the very ghosts of departed scenes and years--what if we start as we then perceive you--lightsome of heart, and glib of speech--cl.u.s.tered and smirking, on that roof of nodding plumes--neath which, one short hour since--lay what was dearest to us on earth?

Let us not heed these things! for--light as is the task to traders in death's dark trappings; painful and soul-subduing are those withering details to the grieving and heart-struck mourner!

We left George lying half insensible by the side of his dead wife.

Sir Henry and Thompson carried him to the apartment of the former, and while Thompson hung over his master, attempting to restore consciousness--Delme had a short conference with Doctor Pormont as to their ulterior proceedings.

Doctor Pormont--as might be expected--enjoined the greatest prompt.i.tude, and recommended that poor Acme's remains, should be consigned to the burial place of the hamlet.

George's objections to this, however, as soon as he was well enough to comprehend what was going forward, seemed quite insurmountable; and after Sir Henry had sought the place by moonlight, and found it wild and open, with goats browsing on the unpicturesque graves, and with nothing to mark the sanct.i.ty of the spot, save a glaring painted picture of the Virgin, his own prejudices became enlisted, and he consented to proceed to Rome.

After this decision was made, he found it utterly impossible, to procure a separate conveyance for the corpse; and was equally unsuccessful in his attempt to procure that--which from being a common want, he had been disposed to consider of every day attainment--a coffin.

While his brother made what arrangements he best might, poor George returned to the chamber of death, and gazed long and fixedly--with the despair of the widower--on those hushed familiar features.

Her hair was now turned back, and was bound with white ribbon, and festooned with some of the very water lilies that Acme had admired. A snow-white wreath bound her brow. It was formed of the white convolvulus.

We have said the features were familiar; but oh! how different! The yellow waxen hue--the heavy stiffened lid--how they affected George Delme, who had never looked on death before!

First he would gaze with stupid awe--then turn to the window, and attempt to repress his sobs--return again--and refuse to credit his bereavement.

Surely the hand moved? No! of its free will shall it never move more! The eye! was there not a slight convulsion in that long dark lash?

No! over it may crawl the busy fly, and creep the destructive worm, without let, and without hindrance!

No finger shall be raised in its behalf--that lid shall remain closed and pa.s.sive!