Jack Part 43

Then Jack rose in a sort of delirium. "I tell you she will not come.

You do not know her, she is a heartless mother; all the misery of my miserable life has come from her! My heart is one huge wound, from the gashes she has cut in it. When he pretended to be ill, she went to him on wings, and would never again leave him; and I am dying, and she refuses to come to me. What a cruel mother! it is she who has killed me, and she does not wish to see me die!"

Exhausted by this effort, Jack let his head fall back on the pillow, and the sister bent over him in gentle pity, while the brief winter's day ended in a yellow twilight and occasional gusts of snow.

Charlotte and D'Argenton descended from their carriage. They had just returned from a fashionable concert, and were carefully dressed in velvet and furs, light gloves and laces. She was in the best of spirits.

Remember that she had just shown herself in public with her poet, and had shown herself, too, to be as pretty as she was ten years before. The complexion was heightened by the sharp wintry air, and the soft wraps in which she was enveloped added to her beauty as does the satin and quilted lining of a casket enhance the brilliancy of the gems within. a woman of the people stood on the sidewalk, and rushed forward on seeing her.

"Madame, madame! come at once!"

"Madame Belisaire!" cried Charlotte, turning pale.

"Your child is very ill; he asks for you!"

"But this is a persecution," said D'Argenton. "Let us pa.s.s. If the gentleman is ill, we will send him a physician."

"He has physicians, and more than he wants, for he is at the hospital."

"At the hospital!"

"Yes, he is there just now, but not for very long. I warn you, if you wish to see him you must hurry."

"Come on, Charlotte, come on! It is a frightful lie. It is some trap laid ready for you;" and the poet drew Charlotte to the stairs.

"Madame, your son is dying! Ah, G.o.d, is it possible that a mother can have a heart like this!"

Charlotte turned toward her. "Show me where he is," she said; and the two women hurried through the streets, leaving D'Argenton in a state of rage, convinced that it was a mere device of his enemies.

Just as Madame Belisaire left the hospital, two persons hurried in,--a young girl and an old man.

A divine face bent over Jack. "It is I, my love, it is Cecile."

It was indeed she. It was her fair pale face, paler than usual by reason of her tears and her watchings; and the hand that held his was the slender one that had already brought the youth such happiness, and yet did its part in bringing him where we now see him; for fate is often cruel enough to strike you through your dearest and best. The sick youth opens his weary eyes to see that he is not dreaming. Cecile is really there; she implores his pardon, and explains why she gave him such pain.

Ah, if she had but known that their destinies were so similar!

As she spoke, a great calm came to Jack, following all the bitterness and anger of the past weeks.

"Then you love me?" he whispered.

"Yes, Jack; I have always loved you."

Whispered in this alcove, that had heard so many dying groans, this word love had a most extraordinary sweetness, as if some wandering bird had taken refuge there.

"How good you are to come, Cecile! Now I shall not utter another murmur.

I am ready to die, with you at my side."

"Die! Who is talking of dying?" said the old doctor in his heartiest voice. "Have no fear, my boy, we will pull you through. You do not look like the same person you were when we came."

This was true enough. He was transfigured with happiness. He pressed Cecile's hand to his cheek, and whispered an occasional word of tenderness.

"All that was lacking to me in life, you have given me, dear. You have been friend and sister, wife and mother."

But his excitement soon gave place to exhaustion, his feverish color to frightful pallor. The ravages made by disease were only too plainly visible. Cecile looked at her grandfather in fright; the room was full of shadows, and it seemed to her that she recognized a Presence more sombre, more mysterious than Night.

Suddenly Jack half lifted himself: "I hear her," he whispered; "she is coming!"

But the watchers at his side heard only the wintry wind in the corridors, the steps of the retreating crowd in the court below, and the distant noises in the street. He listened a moment, said a few unintelligible words, then his head fell back and his eyes closed.

But he was right. Two women were running up the stairs. They had been allowed to enter, though the hour for the admittance of visitors had long since pa.s.sed. But it was one of those occasions where rules may be broken and set aside.

When they arrived at the outer door, Charlotte stopped. "I cannot go on," she said, "I am frightened."

"Come on," the other answered, roughly; "you must. Ah, to such women as you, G.o.d should never give children!"

And she pushed Charlotte toward the staircase. The large room, the shaded lamps, the kneeling forms, the mother saw at one glance; and farther on, at the end of the apartment, were two men bending over a bed, and Cecile Rivals, pale as death, supporting a head on her breast.

"Jack, my child!"

M. Rivals turned. "Hush," he said, sternly.

Then came a sigh--a long, shivering sigh.

Charlotte crept nearer, with failing limbs and sinking heart. It was Jack indeed, with arms stiffly falling at his side, and eyes fixed on vacancy.

The doctor bent over him. "Jack, my friend; it is your mother, she is here!"

And she, unhappy woman, stretched out her arms toward him. "Jack, it is I! I am here!"

Not a movement.

The mother cried in a tone of horror, "Dead?"

"No," said old Rivals; "no,--_Delivered_."

THE END.