A SHADOWED HOME.
They had wandered toward the house, and June, looking up, beheld Paul
standing before her. His face was very pale, and it was evident that
he was laboring under some great excitement. His presence angered Mr.
Linton, who at best was not in a happy mood, but who said in a voice
of extreme hauteur:
"Well, sir, please tell us why you are standing here."
"I came to speak to Miss June," Paul answered in a trembling voice.
"Speak, and be gone, then."
June wondered that Mr. Linton dare speak in tones of such austerity to
a member of her family, but she was the hostess and Mr. Linton her
guest, so she offered no rebuke.
"Why don't you speak? Are you trying to frame an excuse?"
Paul's eyes flashed forth a strange, fiery light, but instantly melted
to one of dreamy sadness, and in a voice full of emotion he said:
"Pardon me, Miss June, but you will be obliged to come to your
father's room. He has been taken with a bad hemorrhage, and a heart
spasm. Your mother and brother are with him, and the physician has
been sent for, but he seems to be growing worse. I looked for your
sister, but could not find her."
"She is promenading with Mr. Brunswick. Mr. Linton, you will please
find her, and send her to us, will you not?" June asked, and then a
low moan escaped the lips which had grown so deadly white.
"Go. I will send her," Mr. Linton replied.
He found Rene seated on a rustic bench beside Max, with her hand
clasped in his. She received the message which he delivered seemingly
much agitated, but she did not arise, and Mr. Linton walked away,
leaving them as he found them.
"Oh, dear," said Irene with a shiver, nestling closer to Max, "isn't
it too bad? I hope he will not die; I look so much older in black. It
isn't a bit becoming, and to think that it should happen right in the
midst of our party. I declare it is enough to make any one out of
patience. I cannot go to the house, for I should get frightened to
death to see any person die."
"I cannot let you go, then. Perhaps you had better wait until it is
over."
"I am afraid Scott will give me a terrible scolding. You do not know
him; he is so cruel."
"Cruel to you, my darling? The man who could be so is a brute," and
Max bent his handsome head until his lips touched the silken hair of
the fair, weak woman whom he was leading on from the high pedestal on
which she might have stood, down, down to the lowest depths of woman's
degradation.
"Be careful," she said, smiling and lifting her jewelled hand, "he
might be looking for me; you know he is terribly jealous."
"How very hard it is to think of spending your life with one so wholly
unsuited to you."
"Oh, dear, yes; and now I see it when it is too late to rectify the
mistake."
"It is not yet too late."
"Why, what do you mean?" she asked, feigning innocence.
"Divorces are common. Do you understand me now?"
She looked into his eyes and smiled her answer.
When June reached her father's room she found Scott standing at the
head of the bed, gazing sadly into his father's face. Her mother knelt
beside, weeping bitterly, her silver-gray dress sweeping the carpet.
June cast one loving glance at the white face with its bright crimson
spot on either cheek lying back upon the snowy pillow. The closed eyes
and the short, quick breath of the sufferer filled her soul with an
agony almost unbearable, and Scott, seeing her grief, drew her in a
close embrace, and laying her bright young head upon his shoulder, she
wept the bitterest tears she had ever known. A silence reigned
throughout the spacious parlors below, and one by one the guests, who
had met there in all their joyousness, quietly departed without
formality--left the hearts they had found buoyed up with joyful
anticipations, now bowed down in deepest grief. Who can portray the
sorrow of the heart breaking by the departure of a loved one from
life? Paul, unable to control his grief, turned his face away from
that of the sufferer, and as he did so his attention was attracted
toward Bob, who had perched himself upon the foot of the bed, and in a
low, mournful sound called out:
"Good night, good night."
Mr. Wilmer's eyes slowly unclosed, and while a faint smile rested on
his lips he said in a weak voice: "Good night, Bob."
The bird, seemingly satisfied, drew his head down and closed his
eyes.
"Eva, darling, come a little nearer," the sick man said, reaching out
his thin white hand. "I shall leave you soon."
A heart-rending sob broke from the lips of the grief-stricken wife.
"Do not weep for me, dear wife. Remember, this life is not all. I am
going to a brighter world. I am so weary of this pain, and I would be
at rest. The hardest of all is to leave my loved ones. Will you try to
meet me? You have been a good wife, and I leave you my blessing. Meet
me in that world, where we shall never part again."
Mrs. Wilmer could not speak, and only heart-rending sobs broke the
stillness of that death chamber.
"God bless you, my children," he said, turning his eyes toward them.
"You have been very dear to me. June, love and trust your brother, as
ever you have, and Scott, take good care of your mother and sister. I
can die easy leaving all in your care. June, my little darling June,
what a blessing you have been to me. Comfort your mother when I am
gone, and meet me in heaven. Paul; where is Paul?"
Paul glided silently toward the bed, and kneeling by its side bowed
his head in silent agony.
"Paul, dear Paul, I shall soon be at rest, and I hope to meet you in
the beautiful world where I go. You have been a good, faithful friend,
and have cheered many an hour that would have been dark without your
presence. Be faithful to your mission; you have a great one yet to
perform." The words sank deeply into Paul's heart, and they acted as
an incentive to urge him to his duty.
"Rene, dear child," whispered the sick man, "where are you?"
"She will be here soon," said Scott, vainly trying to hide his
emotion, at the same time wondering how she could be so cruel as to
stay away when she knew that death was entering their home.
"Rene," he whispered again, "I am going. Tell her I leave my blessing,
as I leave with you all, my loved ones."
The physician had entered, and looking at the patient, shook his head
and turned away.
"Can you do nothing?" Scott asked in a husky voice, showing the agony
he was trying so hard to conceal.
The dreaded sentence fell from the doctor's lips.
"He has passed mortal aid," he said, then left them to their sorrow.
Two hours passed by. Sadly and silently that group sat beside the bed
and watched the spark of life die away. The crimson spots faded slowly
from the pale face, giving place to a marble whiteness, and peacefully
the sufferer slept the sleep that knows no waking.
Irene entered stealthily, her satin slippers and creamy robes soiled
and wet with dew. She tried to appear as though she had no knowledge
of the affair, and nearing Scott, she looked on the face of the dead.
"Oh, papa; poor dear papa," she screamed. "Is he dead? Can't you speak
to me?"
"Hush," said Scott, in a low, commanding voice. "He left you his
blessing. You were sent for, but did not see fit to come. Do not add
insult to injury."
"Oh, is he dead?" she asked again.
"Father, dear father," said Scott, bending down. "Can it be--oh,
mother--June, he is dead."
And Scott, with voiceless lips and tearless eyes, bowed his head in
deepest agony.