Vashti Part 71

"Thank G.o.d! I have done my duty, and now he needs me no longer. Next time I see your face, Maurice Carlyle, I hope it will be at the last bar, in the final judgment; and then may the Lord have mercy upon us both."

The words were breathed inaudibly, and, closing the door gently, she hurried down the steps and in the direction of a small room which Dr.

Clingman had converted into an office.

As she entered, he looked up and pushed back his spectacles.

"What can I do for you?"

"A little thing, which will cost you no trouble, but will greatly oblige me. Doctor, I have found you a kind and sympathizing gentleman, and am grateful for the delicate consideration with which you have treated me. Mr. Carlyle is beyond danger, and I shall leave him in your care. When he is sufficiently strong to be removed, I desire that you will give him this letter, which contains a check payable to his order. There, examine it, and be so good as to write me a receipt."

Silently he complied, and when she had re-enclosed the check and sealed the envelope she placed it in his hand.

"Dr. Clingman, is there any other place to which small-pox cases can be carried? To-day I have discovered some symptoms of the disease in my own system, and I feel a.s.sured I shall be ill before this time to-morrow."

"My dear madam, why not remain here?"

"Because I do not wish to be discovered by Mr. Carlyle, and forced to meet him again. I prefer to suffer, and, if need be, die, alone and unknown."

"If you will trust yourself to me, and to a faithful female nurse whom I can secure, I promise you, upon my honor as a gentleman, that I will allow no one else to see you, living or dead. My dear madam, I beg you to reconsider, and remain where I can watch over, and perhaps preserve your life. I dreaded this. You are feverish now."

Wearily she swept her hand across her forehead, and a dreary smile flitted over her wan features.

"My life is a worthless, melancholy thing, useless to others, and a crushing burden to me; and I might as well lay it down here as elsewhere. I accept your promise, Dr. Clingman, and hope you will obtain a room in the quiet and secluded portion of the building. If I should be so fortunate as to die, do not forget the memorandum in this purse. I leave my body in your care, my soul in the hands of Him who alone can give it rest."

"The burden of my days is hard to bear, But G.o.d knows best; And I have prayed,--but vain has been my prayer,-- For rest--for rest."

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

"Miss Dexter, have you succeeded in seeing Mrs. Gerome since her return?"

"No, sir; she obstinately refuses to admit me, though I have called twice at the house. Yesterday I received a letter in answer to several that I have addressed to her, all of which she returned unopened.

Since you have already learned so much of our melancholy history, why should I hesitate to acquaint you with the contents of her letter? You know the object of her journey north, and I will read you the result."

The governess drew a letter from her pocket, and Dr. Grey leaned his face on his hand and listened.

"SOLITUDE, _May 10th, 18--_.

"_Edith_,--No lingering vestige of affection, no remorseful tenderness, prompted that mission from which I have recently returned, and only the savage scourgings of implacable duty could have driven me, like a galley-slave, to my hated task. The victim of a horrible and disfiguring disease which so completely changed his countenance that his own mother would scarcely have recognized him,--and the tenant of a charity hospital in the town of ----, I found that man who has proved the Upas of your life and of mine.

During his delirium I watched and nursed him--not lovingly (how could I?) but faithfully, kindly, pityingly. When all danger was safely pa.s.sed, and his clouded intellect began to clear itself, I left him in careful hands, and provided an ample amount for his comfortable maintenance in coming years. I spared him the humiliation of recognizing in his nurse his injured and despised wife; and, as night after night I watched beside the pitiable wreck of a once handsome, fascinating, and idolized man, I fully and freely forgave Maurice Carlyle all the wrongs that so completely stranded my life. To-day he is well, and probably happy, while he finds himself possessed of means by which to gratify his extravagant tastes; but how long his naturally fine const.i.tution can hold at bay the legion of ills that hunt like hungry wolves along the track of reckless dissipation, G.o.d only knows.

"For some natures it is exceedingly difficult to forgive,--to forget, impossible; and while my husband's abject wretchedness and degradation disarmed the hate that has for so many years rankled in my heart, I could never again look willingly upon his face.

Edith, you and I have nothing in common but miserable memories, which, I beg you to believe, are sufficiently vivid, without the torturing adjunct of your countenance; therefore, pardon me if I decline to receive your visits, and return the letters that are quite as welcome and cheering to my eyes as the little shoes and garments of the long-buried dead to the mother, who would fain look no more upon the harrowing relics. I do not wish to be harsh, but I must be honest, and our intercourse can never be renewed in this world.

"In bygone days, when I loved you so fondly and trusted you so fully, it was my intention to share my fortune with you; and, since I find that you have not forfeited my confidence in the purity of your purposes, such is still my wish. I enclose a draft on my banker, which I hope you will deem sufficient to enable you to abandon the arduous profession in which you have worn out your life. If I can feel a.s.sured that I have been instrumental in contributing to the peace and ease of the years that may yet be in store for you, it will serve as one honeyed drop to sweeten the dregs of the cup of woe I am draining. Edith, do not refuse the only aid I can offer you in your loneliness; and accept the earnest a.s.surance that I shall be grateful for the privilege of promoting your comfort. Affection and trust I have not, and a few paltry thousands are all I am now able to bestow. By the love you once professed, and in the name of that compa.s.sion you should feel for me, I beg of you, despise not the gift; and let the consciousness that I have saved you from toil and fatigue quiet the soul and ease the heart of a lonely woman, who has shaken hands with every earthly hope. I have done my duty, my conscience is calm and contented, and I sit wearily on the stormy sh.o.r.e of time, waiting for the tide that will drift into eternity the desolate, proud soul of

"VASHTI CARLYLE."

Tears rolled over the governess' cheeks, and, refolding the letter, she said, sorrowfully,--

"My poor, heart-broken Vashti! She has resumed the name which old Elsie gave her because it was her mother's; and how mournfully appropriate it has proved. I could be happy if permitted to spend the residue of my days with her; but she decrees otherwise, and I have no alternative but submission to her imperious will."

Dr. Grey did not lift his face where the shadow of a great, voiceless grief hung heavily, and his low tone indexed deep and painful emotion, when he answered,--

"I sincerely deplore her unfortunate decision, for isolation only augments the ills from which she suffers. Many months have elapsed since I saw her last, but Robert Maclean told me to-day that she was sadly changed in appearance, and seemed in feeble health. She did not tell you that she had been dangerously ill with varioloid, contracted while nursing her husband. Although not in the least marked or disfigured, the attack must have seriously impaired her const.i.tution, if all that Robert tells me be true. Since her return, one month ago, she has not left her room."

"Dr. Grey, exert your influence in my behalf, and prevail upon her to admit me."

"Miss Dexter, you ascribe to me powers of persuasion which, unfortunately, I do not possess; and Mrs. Carlyle's decree is beyond the reach of human agency. To the few who are earnestly interested in her welfare, there remains but one avenue of aid and comfort,--faithful, fervent prayer."

"Perhaps you are not aware of the exalted estimate she places on your character, nor of the value she attaches to your opinions. Of all living beings, she told me she reverenced and trusted you most; and you, at least, would not be denied access to her presence."

She could not see the tremor on his usually firm lips, nor the pallor that overspread his face, and when he spoke his grave voice did not betray the tumult in his aching heart.

"I am no longer a visitor at 'Solitude,' and shall not see its mistress unless she requires my professional aid. While I am very deeply interested in her happiness, I could never consent to intrude upon her seclusion."

"I know my days are numbered, and after a little while I shall sleep well under the ancient cedars that shade the head-stones of my father and mother; but I could die more cheerfully, more joyfully, if Evelyn would only be comforted, and accept some human friendship."

"For some weeks you have seemed so much better that I hoped warm weather would quite relieve and invigorate you. Spend next winter in Cuba or Mexico, and it will probably add many months, possibly years, to your life."

She smiled, and shook her head.

"This beautiful springtime has temporarily baffled the disease, but for me there can be no restoration. Day by day I feel the ebbing of strength and energy, and the approach of my deliverer, death; but I realize also, what the Centaur uttered to Melampus, 'I decline unto my last days calm as the setting of the constellations; but I feel myself perishing and pa.s.sing quickly away, like a snow-wreath floating on the stream.'"

As he looked at the thin, pure face where May sunshine streamed warm and bright, and marked the perfect peace that brooded over the changed features, Dr. Grey was reminded of the lines that might have been written for her, so fully were they suited to her case,--

"I saw that one who lost her love in pain, Who trod on thorns, who drank the loathsome cup; The lost in night, in day was found again; The fallen was lifted up.

They stood together in the blessed noon, They sang together through the length of days; Each loving face bent sunwards, like a moon New-lit with love and praise."

"My friend, the shadows are pa.s.sing swiftly from your life, and, in the mild radiance of its close, you can well afford to forget the storms that clouded its dawn."

"Forget? No, Dr. Grey, I neither endeavor nor desire to forget the sorrows that first taught me the emptiness of earthly things, the futility of human schemes,--that snapped the frail reed of flesh to which I clung, and gave me, instead, the blessed support, the immovable arm of an everlasting G.o.d. Ah! that woman was deeply versed in the heart-lore of her own s.e.x, who wrote,--

'When I remember something which I had, But which is gone, and I must do without,

When I remember something promised me, But which I never had, nor can have now, Because the promiser we no more see In countries that accord with mortal vow; When I remember this, I mourn,--but yet My happier days are not the days when I forget.'"

"If Mrs. Carlyle possessed a t.i.the of your faith and philosophy, how serene, how tranquilly useful her future years might prove."

"In G.o.d's own good time her trials will be sanctified to her eternal peace, and she will one day glide from grief to glory, for she can claim the promise of our Lord, 'The pure in heart shall see G.o.d.' No purer heart than Vashti Carlyle's throbs this side of the throne where seraphim and cherubim hover."

In the brief silence that succeeded, the governess observed the unusually grave and melancholy expression of her companion's countenance, and asked, timidly,--