Thereby Hangs a Tale Part 79

"I must," she said, excitedly. "I must, the time is so short. Tell her, Richard," she whispered, earnestly, "that I loved you very dearly; for I did not know then about her. But tell her it was so innocent and dear a love, that I think G.o.d's angels would not blame me for it. I would not talk so now, Richard, but I am dying."

He started up to run for help, but she feebly restrained him.

"No, no, don't go; it is not yet," she whispered. "Stay with me even when it's growing dark. Promise me you will stay and hold my hand till the last. I shall not feel so afraid then, and I don't think it can be wrong. I used to think once about you, so strong and brave; how in the future you would take care of me, and that I should never be afraid again. Then I used to sit and whisper your name, and stop from my work to kiss the flowers you sent me, every leaf and every blossom, and whisper to it, 'You are my darling's gift.' Was this wrong of me? I could not help it. No one knew, and I have been so different to others.

My life has been all work and sorrow--her sorrow--and those were my happy moments."

"My poor darling!" was all he could utter; and the words came like a groan.

"Don't trouble about it," she whispered; "I'm not sorry to die. You have made me so happy. I feel as if I may take those tender words from you now, Richard. You called me darling twice to-night. Kiss me once again."

Tiny's name was on his lips as he bent over her, and raised the little frail form in his arms; and hers were wreathed around his neck as he pressed his lips to hers twice--lips which responded to the caress.

As he laid her tenderly back upon her pillow, she retained one of his broad, nervous hands, pressed her lips to it once, and then placed it feebly beneath her cheek, lying with her eyes half-closed, and her voice coming in a faint whisper as she said--

"I don't think she would be angry if she knew all. Ah, mother darling, I did not know you had come back. Come here."

For Mrs Lane was sitting in the corner of the room by the door, with her face buried in her hands.

She came and sat at the foot of the couch, unable to restrain her sobs.

"I could not help loving him, dear," she said, smiling; "he is so good and true. It was not the same love I have for you. Richard, you'll be rich again some day. You'll be kind to her?"

"Rich or poor, on my soul I will!" he exclaimed.

"She has worked so hard for me," said Netta, feebly. Then starting with a wildly anxious look upon her face, she uttered a strange, pa.s.sionate cry as of one in intense mental agony.

"My child--my poor child!" cried Mrs Lane, throwing herself on her knees by the couch.

"Why--why did I not think of it before?" cried Netta, wildly. "I ought to have thought--Oh, it will be too late."

"What is it--what can I do?" cried Mrs Lane.

"Papa--papa--papa!" wailed the girl; "I must see papa."

Mrs Lane sank in a heap with her head bowed down upon her knees.

"I--I must see papa," wailed Netta again--"I did not think before--I have something to say--it only came just now. Oh, mother, you will fetch him before it is too late."

Mrs Lane started up and gazed wildly at her guest.

"Can I go? Can I do anything?" he exclaimed.

"No, no, stay with me," wailed Netta; "he would not come for you.

Mamma, you will go. Dear mother, bring him here."

Without another word, Mrs Lane ran into the next room and hurried on her things, returning to kiss the anxious, flushed face gazing so wistfully at her.

"You will not leave her?" she said, hoa.r.s.ely.

"No, he will not go," moaned Netta; "but be quick--be quick."

Richard's heart beat fast, for, as he was left alone, Netta's eyes closed and a terrible pallor succeeded the flush. He was about to rise and summon Mrs Jenkles, but Netta divined his intention, and uttered a feeble protest.

"You said you would not leave me. I am only tired. It is of no use."

She lay there with her cheek pillowed on his hand, and her eyes closed, but her lips moved gently; and as in that feebly-lighted room the solemn silence seemed to grow more painful, Richard felt a strange thrill of awe pa.s.s through him: for he knew that the words she softly whispered to herself were words of prayer.

After a time, Mrs Jenkles softly opened the door and peered in.

"Can I do anything for you, my dear?" she said, gently.

"Yes," said Netta, in a faint whisper; "come here. Kiss me and say good-bye," she continued, after a pause. "Now go and tell Sam I have prayed for a blessing on you both for your kindness to the poor creature you found in such distress."

Mrs Jenkles's sorrow, in spite of herself, found vent in a wail; and she hurried out of the room to weep alone by her own fireside.

Then an hour pa.s.sed without a change, only that twice over the great soft, dilated eyes opened widely to gaze wonderingly about till they rested on Richard, when a faint smile came on the poor wan face, the thin cheek nestled down into the strong man's hand, and a faint sigh of content fluttered from the lips of the dying girl.

It must have been nearly eleven when Netta opened her eyes widely.

"They are very long," she said, in a harsh, cracked voice--"Very long; he must come soon. Why did I not think of it before?"

"She must soon return," said Richard. "Shall I send?"

"No, no! It would be no use," she whispered; and her great loving eyes rested fondly on his for a moment. "Do not let go of my hand, and I shall not feel afraid."

She sank back once more, but only to start at the end of a few moments.

"He's coming--yes, he's coming now."

Richard strained his ears to listen, but there was not a sound; but as a smile of content came once more upon the anxious features, there was the roll of distant cab wheels, and he knew that the senses of the dying girl were preternaturally quickened.

The next minute the wheels stopped at the door, and there were steps on the stairs.

"He has come!" cried the girl, joyfully. "Lift me up in your arms, Richard, that I may see him."

As he responded to her wish, and held her up with her head resting upon his shoulder, the door opened, and, to his intense astonishment, the handsome man of fashion, looking sallow, haggard, and ten years older, with the great drops of sweat upon his face, and his hair clinging wetly to his brow, half staggered into the room.

"Papa, dear papa!" wailed the girl, stretching out one hand; and with a groan, as he read in her wasted features the coming end, he stumbled forward, to sink crushed and humbled to his knees before the face of death.

"My poor child!" he groaned.

"I knew--you would come," moaned the girl, faintly. "Mother--quick-- papa--kind to her--once more--suffered so--so much--"

With her last strength, her trembling little fingers placed those of Vanleigh upon the hand of his neglected, forsaken wife; and then, as a shudder ran through her frame, her nerveless arm dropped, and her head turned away to sink pillowed on Richard's arm. There was a smile upon her lip, as her eyes were bent fixedly upon his, and then as he gazed he saw that their loving light faded, to give place to a far-off, awful stare, and a deep groan burst from the young man's breast.

Vanleigh started up at that, exclaiming wildly--

"Quick--a doctor--the nearest physician--do you hear!"