THE MARTYRS OF LOVE.
She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,
Rather the dead, for life seemed something new,
A strange sensation which she must partake
Perforce, since whatsoever met her view
Struck not her memory; though a heavy ache
Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true,
Brought back the sense of pain, without the cause,
For, for a time the furies made a pause.
--_Byron_.
So Nora's lifeless form was laid upon the bed. Old Mrs. Jones, who had
fallen asleep in her chair, was aroused by the disturbance, and stumbled
up only half awake to see what was the matter, and to offer her
assistance.
Old Jovial had modestly retired to the chimney corner, leaving the poor
girl to the personal attention of her sister.
Hannah had thrown off her shawl and bonnet, and was hastily divesting
Nora of her wet garments, when the old nurse appeared at her side.
"Oh, Mrs. Jones, is she dead?" cried the elder sister.
"No," replied the oracle, putting her warm hand upon the heart of the
patient, "only in a dead faint and chilled to the marrow of her bones,
poor heart! Whatever made her run out so in this storm? Where did you
find her? had she fallen down in a fit? What was the cause on it?" she
went on to hurry question upon question, with the vehemence of an old
gossip starving for sensation news.
"Oh, Mrs. Jones, this is no time to talk! we must do something to bring
her to life!" wept Hannah.
"That's a fact! Jovial, you good-for-nothing, lazy, lumbering nigger,
what are ye idling there for, a-toasting of your crooked black shins?
Put up the chunks and hang on the kettle directly," said the nurse with
authority.
Poor old Jovial, who was anxious to be of service, waiting only to be
called upon, and glad to be set to work, sprung up eagerly to obey this
mandate.
Thanks to the huge logs of wood used in Hannah's wide chimney, the
neglected fire still burned hotly, and Jovial soon had it in a roaring
blaze around the suspended kettle.
"And now, Hannah, you had better get out her dry clothes and a thick
blanket, and hang 'em before the fire to warm. And give me some of that
wine and some allspice to heat," continued Mrs. Jones.
The sister obeyed, with as much docility as the slave had done, and by
their united efforts the patient was soon dressed in warm dry clothes,
wrapped in a hot, thick blanket, and tucked up comfortably in bed. But
though her form was now limber, and her pulse perceptible, she had not
yet spoken or opened her eyes. It was a half an hour later, while Hannah
stood bathing her temples with camphor, and Mrs. Jones sat rubbing her
hands, that Nora showed the first signs of returning consciousness, and
these seemed attended with great mental or bodily pain, it was difficult
to tell which, for the stately head was jerked back, the fair forehead
corrugated, and the beautiful lips writhen out of shape.
"Fetch me the spiced wine now, Hannah," said the nurse; and when it was
brought she administered it by teaspoonfuls. It seemed to do the patient
good, for when she had mechanically swallowed it, she sighed as with a
sense of relief, sank back upon her pillow and closed her eyes. Her face
had lost its look of agony; she seemed perfectly at ease. In a little
while she opened her eyes calmly and looked around. Hannah bent over
her, murmuring:
"Nora, darling, how do you feel? Speak to me, my pet!"
"Stoop down to me, Hannah! low, lower still, I want to whisper to you."
Hannah put her ear to Nora's lips.
"Oh, Hannah, it was all true! he was married to another woman." And as
she gasped out these words with a great sob, her face became convulsed
again with agony, and she covered it with her hands.
"Do not take this so much to heart, sweet sister. Heaven knows that you
were innocent, and the earth shall know it, too; as for him, he was a
villain and a hypocrite not worth a tear," whispered Hannah.
"Oh, no, no, no! I am sure he was not to blame. I cannot tell you why,
because I know so little; but I feel that he was faultless," murmured
Nora, as the spasm passed off, leaving her in that elysium of physical
ease which succeeds great pain.
Hannah was intensely disgusted by Nora's misplaced confidence; but she
did not contradict her, for she wished to soothe, not to excite the
sufferer.
For a few minutes Nora lay with her eyes closed and her hands crossed
upon her bosom, while her watchers stood in silence beside her bed. Then
springing up with wildly flaring eyes she seized her sister, crying out:
"Hannah! Oh, Hannah!"
"What is it, child?" exclaimed Hannah, in affright.
"I do believe I'm dying--and, oh! I hope I am."
"Oh, no, ye aint a-dying, nyther; there's more life than death in this
'ere; Lord forgive ye, girl, fer bringing such a grief upon your good
sister," said Mrs. Jones grimly.
"Oh, Mrs. Jones, what is the matter with her? Has she taken poison, do
you think? She has been in a great deal of trouble to-night!" cried
Hannah, in dismay.
"No, it's worse than pi'sen. Hannah, you send that ere gaping and
staring nigger right away directly; this aint no place, no longer, for
no men-folks to be in, even s'posin they is nothin' but nigger
cre-turs.".
Hannah raised her eyes to the speaker. A look of intelligence passed
between the two women. The old dame nodded her head knowingly, and then
Hannah gently laid Nora back upon her pillow, for she seemed at ease
again now, and went to the old man and said:
"Uncle Jovial, you had better go home now. Aunt Dinah will be anxious
about you, you know."
"Yes, honey, I knows it, and I was only awaitin' to see if I could be of
any more use," replied the old man, meekly rising to obey.
"I thank you very much, dear old Uncle Jovial, for all your goodness to
us to-night, and I will knit you a pair of nice warm socks to prove it."
"Laws, child, I don't want nothing of no thanks, nor no socks for
a-doin' of a Christian man's duty. And now, Miss Hannah, don't you be
cast down about this here misfortin'; it's nothin' of no fault of yours;
everybody 'spects you for a well-conducted young 'oman; an' you is no
ways 'countable for your sister's mishaps. Why, there was my own Aunt
Dolly's step-daughter's husband's sister-in-law's son as was took up for
stealin' of sheep. But does anybody 'spect me the less for that? No! and
no more won't nobody 'spect you no less for poor misfortinit Miss Nora.
Only I do wish I had that ere scamp, whoever he is, by the ha'r of his
head! I'd give his blamed neck one twist he wouldn't 'cover of in a
hurry," said the old man, drawing himself up stiffly as he buttoned his
overcoat.
"And now good-night, chile! I'll send my ole 'oman over early in de
mornin', to fetch Miss Nora somefin' nourishin, an' likewise to see if
she can be of any use," said Jovial, as he took up his hat to depart.
The snow had ceased to fall, the sky was perfectly clear, and the stars
were shining brightly. Hannah felt glad of this for the old man's sake,
as she closed the door behind him.
But Nora demanded her instant attention. That sufferer was in a paroxysm
of agony stronger than any that had yet preceded it.
There was a night of extreme illness, deadly peril, and fearful anxiety
in the hut.
But the next morning, just as the sun arose above the opposite heights
of Brudenell, flooding all the cloudless heavens and the snow-clad earth
with light and glory, a new life also arose in that humble hut upon the
hill.
* * * * *
Hannah Worth held a new-born infant boy in her arms, and her tears fell
fast upon his face like a baptism of sorrow.
The miserable young mother lay back upon her pillow--death impressed
upon the sunken features, the ashen complexion, and the fixed eyes.
"Oh, what a blessing if this child could die!" cried Hannah, in a
piercing voice that reached even the failing senses of the dying girl.
There was an instant change. It was like the sudden flaring up of an
expiring light. Down came the stony eyes, melting with tenderness and
kindling with light. All the features were softened and illumined.
Those who have watched the dying are familiar with these sudden
re-kindlings of life. She spoke in tones of infinite sweetness:
"Oh, do not say so, Hannah! Do not grudge the poor little thing his
life! Everything else has been taken from him, Hannah!--father, mother,
name, inheritance, and all! Leave him his little life: it has been
dearly purchased! Hold him down to me, Hannah; I will give him one kiss,
if no one ever kisses him again."
"Nora, my poor darling, you know that I will love your boy, and work for
him, and take care of him, if he lives; only I thought it was better if
it pleased God that he should go home to the Saviour," said Hannah, as
she held the infant down to receive his mother's kiss.
"God love you, poor, poor baby!" said Nora, putting up her feeble hands,
and bringing the little face close to her lips. "He will live, Hannah!
Oh, I prayed all through the dreadful night that he might live, and the
Lord has answered my prayer," she added, as she resigned the child once
more to her sister's care.
Then folding her hands over her heart, and lifting her eyes towards
heaven with a look of sweet solemnity, and, in a voice so deep,
bell-like, and beautiful that it scarcely seemed a human one, she said:
"Out of the Depths have I called to Thee, and Thou hast heard my voice."
And with these sublime words upon her lips she once more dropped away
into sleep, stupor, or exhaustion--for it is difficult to define the
conditions produced in the dying by the rising and falling of the waves
of life when the tide is ebbing away. The beautiful eyes did not close,
but rolled themselves up under their lids; the sweet lips fell apart,
and the pearly teeth grew dry.
Old Mrs. Jones, who had been busy with a saucepan over the fire, now
approached the bedside, saying:
"Is she 'sleep?"
"I do not know. Look at her, and see if she is," replied the weeping
sister.
"Well, I can't tell," said the nurse, after a close examination.
And neither could Hippocrates, if he had been there.
"Do you think she can possibly live?" sobbed Hannah.
"Well--I hope so, honey. Law, I've seen 'em as low as that come round
again. Now lay the baby down, Hannah Worth, and come away to the window;
I want to talk to you without the risk of disturbing her."
Hannah deposited the baby by its mother's side and followed the nurse.
"Now you know, Hannah, you must not think as I'm a hard-hearted ole
'oman; but you see I must go."
"Go! oh, no! don't leave Nora in her low state! I have so little
experience in these cases, you know. Stay with her! I will pay you well,
if I am poor."
"Child, it aint the fear of losin' of the pay; I'm sure you're welcome
to all I've done for you."
"Then do stay! It seems indeed that Providence himself sent you to us
last night! What on earth should we have done without you! It was really
the Lord that sent you to us."
"'Pears to me it was Old Nick! I know one thing: I shouldn't a-come if I
had known what an adventur' I was a-goin' to have," mumbled the old
woman to herself.
Hannah, who had not heard her words, spoke again:
"You'll stay?"
"Now, look here, Hannah Worth, I'm a poor old lady, with nothing but my
character and my profession; and if I was to stay here and nuss Nora
Worth, I should jes' lose both on 'em, and sarve me right, too! What call
have I to fly in the face of society?"
Hannah made no answer, but went and reached a cracked tea-pot from the
top shelf of the dresser, took from it six dollars and a half, which was
all her fortune, and came and put it in the hand of the nurse, saying:
"Here! take this as your fee for your last night's work and go, and
never let me see your face again if you can help it."
"Now, Hannah Worth, don't you be unreasonable--now, don't ye; drat the
money, child; I can live without it, I reckon; though I can't live
without my character and my perfession; here, take it, child--you may
want it bad afore all's done; and I'm sure I would stay and take care of
the poor gal if I dared; but now you know yourself, Hannah, that if I
was to do so, I should be a ruinated old 'oman; for there ain't a
respectable lady in the world as would ever employ me again."
"But I tell you that Nora is as innocent as her own babe; and her
character shall be cleared before the day is out!" exclaimed Hannah,
tears of rage and shame welling to her eyes.
"Yes, honey, I dessay; and when it's done I'll come back and nuss
her--for nothing, too," replied the old woman dryly, as she put on her
bonnet and shawl.
This done she returned to the side of Hannah.
"Now, you know I have told you everything what to do for Nora; and
by-and-by, I suppose, old Dinah will come, as old Jovial promised; and
maybe she'll stay and 'tend to the gal and the child; 'twon't hurt her,
you know, 'cause niggers aint mostly got much character to lose. There,
child, take up your money; I wouldn't take it from you, no more'n I'd
pick a pocket. Good-by."
Hannah would have thrown the money after the dame as she left the hut,
but that Nora's dulcet tones recalled her:
"Hannah, don't!"
She hurried to the patient's bedside; there was another rising of the
waves of life; Nora's face, so dark and rigid a moment before, was now
again soft and luminous.
"What is it, sister?" inquired Hannah, bending over her.
"Don't be angry with her, dear; she did all she could for us, you know,
without injuring herself--and we had no right to expect that."
"But--her cruel words!"
"Dear Hannah, never mind; when you are hurt by such, remember our
Saviour; think of the indignities that were heaped upon the Son of God;
and how meekly he bore them, and how freely he forgave them."
"Nora, dear, you do not talk like yourself."
"Because I am dying, Hannah. My boy came in with the rising sun, and I
shall go out with its setting."
"No, no, my darling--you are much better than you were. I do not see why
you should die!" wept Hannah.
"But I do; I am not better, Hannah--I have only floated back. I am
always floating backward and forward, towards life and towards death;
only every time I float towards death I go farther away, and I shall
float out with the day."
Hannah was too much moved to trust herself to speak.
"Sister," said Nora, in a fainter voice, "I have one last wish."
"What is it, my own darling?"
"To see poor, poor Herman once more before I die."
"To forgive him! Yes, I suppose that will be right, though very hard,"
sighed the elder girl.
"No, not to forgive him, Hannah--for he has never willingly injured me,
poor boy; but to lay my hand upon his head, and look into his eyes, and
assure him with my dying breath that I know he was not to blame; for I
do know it, Hannah."
"Oh, Nora, what faith!" cried the sister.
The dying girl, who, to use her own words, was floating away again,
scarcely heard this exclamation, for she murmured on in a lower tone,
like the receding voice of the wind:
"For if I do not have a chance of saying this to him, Hannah--if he is
left to suppose I went down to the grave believing him to be
treacherous--it will utterly break his heart, Hannah; for I know him,
poor fellow---he is as sensitive as--as--any--." She was gone again
out of reach.
Hannah watched the change that slowly grew over her beautiful face: saw
the grayness of death creep over it--saw its muscles stiffen into
stone--saw the lovely eyeballs roll upward out of sight--and the sweet
lips drawn away from the glistening teeth.
While she thus watched she heard a sound behind her. She turned in time
to see the door pushed open, and Herman Brudenell--pale, wild, haggard,
with matted hair, and blood-shot eyes, and shuddering frame--totter into
the room.