DEATH IN THE TOWER-CHAMBER.
The woman did inquire, and the very sound of her voice made the poor
victim on the bed shake till the counterpane moved like snow disturbed
by the wind. Jessie was holding the pale hand, and, feeling it quiver,
she clasped it closer, and said to Mrs. Dennison,--
"Madam, your voice troubles my mother; please to leave us alone."
Mr. Lee looked from his daughter to the woman; but it was no time for
anger--he only lifted one hand to deprecate further noise, and bent over
his wife with such solemn tenderness in his eyes as I had never seen
there before.
"My wife, my poor wife!" he said, sheltering the frail form with his
arm, as if that could keep death away.
She heard him, and the tension on her delicate nerves relaxed. The
letter, which had hitherto been clenched in one hand, fell away and
rustled to the floor. Mrs. Dennison picked it up, folded it
deliberately, and held it toward Mr. Lee.
"This has just fallen from her hand," she said; "it may have some
reference to this strange attack."
Again that shiver ran through Mrs. Lee's form, and her face contracted
with the pain, while fresh drops of crimson gathered on her lips.
"Madam, your presence tortures her," said Jessie; "these attacks come
and go with your voice."
"My friend, my dear, sweet friend; will you not give me one look before
I go?"
Mrs. Dennison bent over the bed as she spoke, and, sure enough, Mrs. Lee
opened her eyes wide, and turned them on the woman's face. Never shall I
forget that look! Its wounded expression haunts me yet. Those great,
mournful eyes dwelt on that face, which grew slowly pallid, for a full
half-minute, and then turned away.
Mrs. Dennison was awed; but, feeling our eyes upon her, she took
strength, and, with a pathetic "Farewell!" on her lips, pressed them to
those of Mrs. Lee.
There was a faint struggle, a gasping cry broke from the bed, and when
Mrs. Dennison lifted her face, a drop of fresh blood crimsoned her lips.
She did not know it; but with the red blood burning there, retreated
into Lottie's room, where she hovered over the scene as if afraid to
leave it entirely.
Mr. Lee forgot everything in keen anxiety for his wife. When her eyes
turned sorrowfully upon him, he cried out,--
"Oh! speak to me, speak to me, my wife! Give some sign that I have not
come too late!"
The most wonderful expression I ever saw stole over that face; it came
like moonlight on dark waters,--a gleam of hope breaking through the
agonies of death. Her lips moved. He bent down and listened.
"You have loved me?"
There was no noise; but we knew that she was saying this by the movement
of her lips.
For an instant, Mr. Lee seemed stunned. The question struck him to the
soul; then his noble head was uplifted, and, looking tenderly into those
wistful eyes, he said, "I have always loved you, my wife. God is my
witness, I have always loved you."
That expression deepened on her face. She lifted her hands feebly, and,
understanding the sign, he raised her to his bosom. The muslin drapery
of her sleeve got entangled in his dress. I attempted to disengage it
while her face lay on his bosom. In doing this I touched her hand; the
frail fingers clasped mine with the tenacious feebleness of an infant's;
and, laying my palm on Mr. Lee's hand, she pressed them softly together,
whispering,--
"Be good to her."
He shook all over, while my poor hand lay quivering on his. I drew it
away with hushed breath.
She was dying on his bosom; her eyes were uplifted to his; her breath
came in faint gasps; the two frail hands folded themselves; and, as the
mists of night settle on a lily, that dear face hardened into the marble
of death.
I cannot remember all that passed after this, who came into the room, or
who went out. I only know that the stillness of death was in the house,
the pain of life in our hearts. Sweet sufferer, gentle lady! How white
and still she lay on the pretty French bed, with its volumes of lace
brooding over her like the clouds in which we imagine seraphs to be
sleeping! There was no noisy grief in the room. Even Mrs. Dennison had
fled to her own apartment; the suddenness of our calamity shocked even
her.
Lottie knelt by the bed, her face buried in the clothes, dumb and still.
Jessie clung to her father, who was striving to comfort her; but
struggle against it as he would, the force of a mighty anguish spoke out
in his broken words.
Those were mournful days during which she lay in that tower-room. We had
the dead to ourselves--that woman never intruded on us. Cora came each
day informing us that her mistress was ill from grief. _He_ heard the
message, but gave no sign beyond a grave inquiry. The sadness in his
face deepened every hour; stern thoughts perhaps had stamped the sorrow
deeply in his soul. There was something more than natural grief there;
gleams of remorse broke through all the rest.
The night before Mrs. Lee was buried, I went into her room; to sleep was
impossible, and I longed to be alone with her once more. I am no
enthusiast, and have little superstition, but it seems to me impossible
to doubt that the dead are often with us on this side the eternal shore.
We feel their presence in our heart of hearts without caring to see it
with the sense.
How young she looked--how good and quiet! Some white flowers lay on the
pillow with rich colors burning in their hearts, that cast a sort of
illumination over the frozen stillness of her face. The white draperies
gathered above her, the shaded lights stealing like star-gleams through
the room, made the stillness of death holy!
I sat down by the bed, in the great easy-chair which she had occupied
when Lottie came in with the letter. A faint perfume of violets hung
about the cushions, and on the seat lay the delicate handkerchief she
had been using. It seemed only a moment since I had seen her resting
tranquilly upon the seat that supported me. Could death be so cruelly
sudden?
I wept quietly as these thoughts filled my mind, and with them came
vague conjectures regarding the letter which had apparently produced a
result so fatal. Who had written that letter? What could the subject
have been? Where was it now? I remembered that Mr. Lee had taken it
mechanically from Mrs. Dennison's hand and put it in his pocket,
evidently unconscious of its mysterious importance. Surely the woman
could have nothing to fear from that letter; at any rate, she had held
no part in its fatal delivery. Then who could have possessed the power
to break the frail life which had been quenched? It was all a painful
enigma, impossible to solve; but the great, mournful fact lay before
me,--my friend--the best friend I had ever known on earth--was dead.