The day was now fixed at the distance of a week for the removal of the
St. Aubyns to London. Ellen lamented much the impossibility of having
Laura Cecil with her, who would have been such a support to her in a
situation so new; but nothing could be urged on that point, as it was
impossible she could leave Juliet, who appeared sometimes better
sometimes worse, but always patient, gentle, and pious to a degree that
was really angelic.
Ellen felt sincerely grieved to leave her, and proposed that she should
be removed to London for better advice, but found this expedient had
been before resorted to, and Doctor B----'s advice frequently renewed by
letters since, and that it was thought the air of London did not agree
with her. The weather now, for the time of year, the second week in
March, was remarkably mild; and the medical man in attendance on Juliet,
who had now been for some days tolerably free from the low fever which
generally hung about her, permitted her to go out once or twice in a
garden chair, for the benefit of the air: the returning verdure of
spring seemed, for a time, to revive her: but whether the exertion was
too much, or some unobserved change in the atmosphere affected her
delicate frame, could not be known; but she was suddenly seized with one
of those attacks of fever which had so frequently brought her to the
brink of the grave; and on the day before that fixed for Ellen's leaving
Northamptonshire, a note from Laura announced that the life of this
admirable young creature was despaired of.
"She is perfectly sensible," added the afflicted sister; "the dear angel
retains all her usual pious composure; she wishes to see you. Could you,
dear Lady St. Aubyn, without being too much affected, come to her?"
Ellen, bursting into tears, put the note into St. Aubyn's hand, saying,
"Oh, my dear Lord; let me go--pray let me go directly!"
"Be less alarmed, be more composed, my dearest love," replied he, after
glancing over the contents, "or I cannot consent to your going. I wish
it had not been asked."
"Oh, indeed, dear St. Aubyn, I am quite composed, quite easy; but I
shall suffer much more in not seeing the dear, dear creature once again,
than even by witnessing this sudden and most unexpected change."
"Well, my love, we will go together; but do not be too much alarmed; she
may yet recover: Laura's fears may outrun the occasion: Juliet has often
been very ill before; but we will go: they will both, I know, be pleased
at your coming."
He then ordered the carriage, which was soon ready; and half an hour
brought them to Rose-hill. Ellen was immediately shewn to Juliet's room:
by the bed-side sat Laura: her cheeks, lips, and whole countenance, were
the colour of monumental marble; not a tear fell from her eyes; not a
sigh heaved her bosom; but the woe, the deep expressive woe which marked
every feature, no language could describe: she rose, and advanced a few
steps to meet Ellen, grasping her hand with one which the touch of death
could alone have rendered colder; her lips moved, but no articulate word
broke the mournful silence.
Ellen turned pale, shuddered, and looked ready to faint; Miss Cecil
made a sign to an attendant, who, bathed in tears, stood near her: she
placed a chair for Lady St. Aubyn, and brought her a few drops in some
water; she wept, and was relieved.
"Oh, why did I send for you!" said Laura, in a low tone, and speaking
with difficulty; "I fear it is too much."
"Don't be frightened, my Lady," said the nurse: "Miss Juliet is a little
easier; she is dozing."
In a few minutes Juliet moved and spoke, but so faintly, her voice could
hardly be distinguished. In an instant Laura was on her knees beside
her, and catching the imperfect sounds, replied in a voice which
betrayed not the anguish of her soul, "Yes, my love, she is here--will
you see her?"
Then turning to Ellen, she motioned her to approach. Ellen rose, and
went to the bed-side; she looked on Juliet, and saw that sweet angelic
countenance, slightly flushed, and looking as composed as ever; and
ignorant of the appearances of disease, fancied her better, and was, in
some measure, comforted. Juliet faintly articulated a few words,
expressive of the pleasure she felt in seeing Ellen, and would have said
more, but the nurse, for the sake of all, interposed, and requested that
Miss Juliet might not be allowed to speak much. With difficulty she held
out her feeble emaciated arms to Ellen, who tenderly embraced her, and
half dissolved in tears, retired to the window, whither she drew Miss
Cecil. Still the wretched Laura shed no tear; and the deep grief,
impressed on her fine countenance, was much more painful to the beholder
than the loudest expressions of sorrow could have been.
"Give sorrow vent: the grief which does not speak
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break!"
"For heaven's sake, my dearest Laura," said Ellen, "endeavour to take
comfort; surely she is better--she will recover!"
Laura only shook her head; and the nurse approaching, said, "Indeed,
Madam, Miss Cecil will kill herself; she has not had her clothes off
these two nights, nor has the slightest refreshment passed her lips this
day."
"Oh! talk not to me of rest or food," cried Laura, "I can partake of
neither."
Ellen most tenderly urged her to take something; but pressing her hands
upon her heart, she replied, "Oh no, oh no--I could not; indeed I could
not. Go," she added, "my dear friend--go, this is no place for you;
nothing but the request of ----; nothing but _her_ request should have
induced me to send for you."
"But now I _am_ here," said Ellen, "surely you will allow me to stay; I
may be of use to you; of comfort to dear dear Juliet."
In vain she urged. Laura sacrificed all selfish considerations, and
insisted on her returning home, promising to send to her should Juliet
wish to see her again; and St. Aubyn, anxious for her, now sent to
request his wife would come: she therefore embraced her friend, and
looking once more on the departing saint, who now again lay heavily
dozing, she lifted up her hands and eyes to heaven, and, with another
shower of tears, left the room.
St. Aubyn was rejoiced to find her disposed to accompany him home,
though she complained bitterly that Laura would not let her stay.
"Laura," said he, "judges as she always does, wisely, and acts kindly:
you could be of no real service, and your being here would be highly
improper; you must not think of it."
Two days of the greatest anxiety now passed, and at the end of that time
the fair and lovely Juliet breathed no more: her last moments were
attended by consolation so powerful, and hopes so celestial, as might
well have taught the worldly "how a Christian could die!"
For many days Laura was confined to her bed, and it was feared she would
follow her sister to the grave; but by degrees she shook off the excess
of her sorrow, and for her father's sake endeavoured to recover from the
dreadful shock she had received.
Sir William Cecil, who had long been convinced that Juliet would not
live many months, was more easily consoled. The St. Aubyns of course had
delayed their journey to London on this event; and finding that Sir
William Cecil was disposed to make an excursion to Bath, which his gouty
habit indeed rendered almost necessary, they endeavoured to prevail on
Laura to come to them at St. Aubyn Castle for a short time, and then go
with them to London. From this proposal, especially the latter part, she
for some time shrunk, and wished to be allowed to remain at Rose-hill
alone: but that her friends would not permit: and Sir William having
arranged to go to Bath at the same time with a neighbouring family, and
to be in the same house with them, Laura was at length prevailed on to
remove to the Castle, and from thence, after a short stay, to accompany
her friends to London, where they promised her an apartment exclusively
her own, and that she should see no other till she herself wished it.
"Yet why," said she, "my dearest Lady St. Aubyn, why should I burden you
with one so powerless to add to your comforts, or partake your
pleasures?"
"Is not that an unkind question?" said Ellen; "or do you really believe
me insensible to the gratification of soothing your mind, and supporting
your spirits? Whenever you will permit me, I will be your visitor in
your apartment; whenever my company would be irksome, I will leave you
to yourself, provided I do not find you the worse for the indulgence."
All was therefore thus arranged, and Miss Cecil, Lord and Lady St. Aubyn
in one carriage, and Miss Cecil's maid, and Ellen's talkative but
faithful Jane, in another, with out riders, &c. in great style left
Northamptonshire, and arrived the next evening at the Earl's magnificent
house in Cavendish-square.--Lady St. Aubyn's first care was to select
such an apartment for the mournful Laura as would make her easy, and
free from restraint; and having conducted her to it, she told her she
was entirely mistress there, and never should be interrupted unless she
chose it.
Ellen, who had made several little attempts in verse since she had seen
those of Miss Cecil, now soothed her sorrow for the loss of the sweet
Juliet by a few stanzas, which, when she thought her able to bear them,
she gave to Laura, who was gratified by this little tribute to her
loved, lamented sister's memory.