Tear follows tear where long no tear hath been;
I see the present on a distant goal,
The past, revived, is present to my soul.
Blackie’s Faust.
Supported by the very power of sorrow,
And faith, that comes a solemn comforter.
Wilson.
Our poor heroine made the necessary effort, and languidly followed her
conductor into a long passage which led to a lofty chamber, carefully
furnished with a luxurious bed and every appliance of elegance and
comfort. Throwing herself on a sofa, Grace heeded nothing around her,
different as every minute article was in its adaptation to the
refinements of life from the simple arrangements of her former home.
Her attendant was assiduous in her cares. She wiped her face and hands
with a damp towel, bathed her feet, and held a bottle of perfume to her
nostrils to revive her failing strength. Then, bringing a salver
containing wine and light nutriment, she put the glass and spoon
alternately to the lips of the sufferer, who mechanically tasted again
and again of their contents, seemingly having at length lost all power
of resistance. Then, assisting her to the bed, Susette departed, at a
faint request from her lips to be left alone.
Passive and immovable she lay for some moments after the departure of
the hand-maiden. With revived strength, she at length arose and locked
the door of her apartment. There are cases in which the necessity for
calm contemplation forces itself upon us, and she now nerved herself to
a view of her situation. Her prospects were gloomy and sad. She was cut
off from her family and friends at a moment when their lives were
endangered, and doubtless they lived no more. The sentiment of love,
too, had touched her bosom for the young stranger who had appeared for a
time in their little village, and who might return thither only to find
it an ashy ruin, and supposing her to have perished with the rest of the
inhabitants, forget her memory and devote himself to another. Oh! had
she had one only friend to whom she could have appealed for sympathy in
this moment of agony! Alone--alone--the unutterable anguish of that
word!
But at this moment the child-like faith and trust of her girlhood stole
over her, leading her to the one unfailing friend who could aid and
guide her. The power of prayer had heretofore since her affliction
seemed denied to her, but now an inward voice called her to her Father’s
throne.
She knelt, and pushing her hair from her throbbing temples, as if its
weight were insupportable, she prayed for resignation to her situation.
The anguish she suffered was deep and terrible, known only to the Reader
of all hearts: but at length the heavy weight on her spirit gave way,
and though her tears fell fast and unrestrainedly, her gentle heart was
comforted. There was a holy hush in that lone chamber, as if the late
anguish she had felt was soothed by the soft fluttering of an angel’s
wing, as it wafted her petitions above on its heavenward flight. That
help which to all who seek it is given was granted, and her yearning
heart was lifted to Heaven. In after years, she looked back upon the
speedy answer which had been vouchsafed to her prayer in that hour,
almost with awe.
Inexpressibly comforted, she rose from her knees, extinguished the
light, and lay down to seek repose. Weariness soon overcame her, and she
fell asleep to dream of one whose image was impressed on her young
heart. Again in her visions she was pressed to his breast, and words and
protestations poured like a strain of rich and soothing music on her
ear. Oh, gladly would she have died in that blissful dream.
But through the window of her apartment the sun streamed, announcing
that the morning was far advanced, and she opened her eyes to behold the
appearance of a young female, of high rank, attired in a rich
morning-dress. She made an effort to rise, but her strength had been
overtasked by the intense emotions of her mind. In the exertion, she
fell forward fainting and powerless at the intruder’s feet.
When Grace Bartlett recovered, she found herself on the bed partially
undressed, the young lady holding a bottle of smelling-salts, which had
evidently been used, and the attendant, Susette, bathing her temples and
hands with cold water. For nearly an hour she hovered between sense and
consciousness. Her head felt as if bound to the pillow by weights of
lead, and she had an incessant burning and throbbing of all her pulses,
accompanied by sharp pain. Her eyes closed upon the light, and she was
in dreamland again. Still her consciousness was not lost, but there
were, for a few passing moments, sounds in her ear like those of which
she had dreamed.
It seemed almost as if an angel’s voice now roused her, for the strange
lady, bending over her, said in accents of almost unearthly tenderness,
“You are ill, sweet maiden, speak to me.”
She paused, and her tones fell musically on the senses of the unhappy
guest, for those notes of sympathy had reached even to her apathetic
ear. Grace attempted to reply, but utter exhaustion followed, and tears
alone attested all she felt. These proved no relief, however, and before
night Georgiana Lincoln watched over her in the strong paroxysms of a
brain fever.