THE MARRIAGE.
From the moment in which she had learnt from Rodolph the violent death
of Fleur-de-Marie, Sarah had felt crushed and borne down by a disclosure
so fatal to all her ambitious hopes. Tortured equally by a too late
repentance, she had fallen into a fearful nervous attack, attended even
by delirium; her partially healed wound opened afresh, and a long
continuation of fainting fits gave rise to the supposition of her death.
Yet still the natural strength of her constitution sustained her even
amid this severe shock, and life seemed to struggle vigorously against
death.
Seated in an easy chair, the better to relieve herself from the sense of
suffocation which oppressed her, Sarah had remained for some time
plunged in bitter reflections, almost amounting to regrets, that she had
been permitted to escape from almost certain death.
Suddenly the door of the invalid's chamber opened, and Thomas Seyton
entered, evidently struggling to restrain some powerful emotion. Hastily
waving his hand for the countess's attendants to retire, he approached
his sister, who seemed scarcely to perceive her brother's presence.
"How are you now?" inquired he.
"Much the same; I feel very weak, and have at times a most painful
sensation of being suffocated. Why was I not permitted to quit this
world during my late attack?"
"Sarah," replied Thomas Seyton, after a momentary silence, "you are
hovering between life and death,--any violent emotion might destroy you
or recall your feeble powers and restore you to health."
"There can be no further trial for me, brother!"
"You know not that--"
"I could now even hear that Rodolph were dead without a shock. The pale
spectre of my murdered child--murdered through my instrumentality, is
ever before me. It creates not mere emotion, but a bitter and ceaseless
remorse. Oh, brother, I have known the feelings of a mother only since I
have become childless."
"I own I liked better to find in you that cold, calculating ambition,
that made you regard your daughter but as a means of realising the dream
of your whole existence."
"That ambition fell to the ground, crushed for ever beneath the
overwhelming force of the prince's reproaches. And the picture drawn by
him of the horrors to which my child had been exposed awakened in my
breast all a mother's tenderness."
"And how," said Seyton, hesitatingly and laying deep emphasis on each
word he uttered, "if by a miracle, a chance, an almost impossibility,
your daughter were still living, tell me how you would support such a
discovery."
"I should expire of shame and despair!"
"No such thing! You would be but too delighted at the triumph such a
circumstance would afford to your ambition; for had your daughter
survived, the prince would, beyond a doubt, have married you."
"And admitting the miracle you speak of could happen, I should have no
right to live; but so soon as the prince had bestowed on me the title of
his consort, my duty would have been to deliver him from an unworthy
spouse, and my daughter from an unnatural mother."
The perplexity of Thomas Seyton momentarily increased. Commissioned by
Rodolph, who was waiting in an adjoining room, to acquaint Sarah that
Fleur-de-Marie still lived, he knew not how to proceed. So feeble was
the state of the countess's health, that an instant might extinguish the
faint spark that still animated her frame; and he saw that any delay in
performing the nuptial rite between herself and the prince might be
fatal to every hope. Determined to legitimise the birth of
Fleur-de-Marie by giving every necessary formality to the ceremony, the
prince had brought with him a clergyman to perform the sacred service,
and two witnesses in the persons of Murphy and Baron de Grauen. The Duc
de Lucenay and Lord Douglas, hastily summoned by Seyton, had arrived to
act as attesting witnesses on the part of the countess.
Each moment became important, but the remorse of Sarah, mingled as it
was with a maternal tenderness that had entirely replaced the fiery
ambition that once held sway in her breast, rendered the task of Seyton
still more difficult. He could but hope that his sister deceived either
herself or him, and that her pride and vanity would rekindle in all
their former brightness at the prospect of the crown so long and
ardently coveted.
"Sister," resumed Seyton, in a grave and solemn voice, "I am placed in a
situation of cruel perplexity. I could utter one word of such deep
importance that it might save your life or stretch you a corpse at my
feet."
"I have already told you nothing in this world can move me more."
"Yes, one--one event, my sister."
"And what is that?"
"Your daughter's welfare."
"I have no longer a child,--she is dead!"
"But if she were not?"
"Cease, brother, such useless suppositions,--we exhausted that subject
some minutes since. Leave me to unavailing regrets!"
"Nay, but I cannot so easily persuade myself that if, by some almost
incredible chance, some unhoped-for aid, your daughter had been snatched
from death, and still lived--"
"I beseech you talk not thus to me,--you know not what I suffer."
"Then listen to me, sister, while I declare that, as the Almighty shall
judge you and pardon me, your daughter lives!"
"Lives! said you? My child lives?"
"I did, and truly so; the prince, with a clergyman and the necessary
witnesses, awaits in the adjoining chamber; I have summoned two of our
friends to act as our witnesses. The desire of your life is at length
accomplished, the prediction fulfilled, and you are wedded to royalty!"
As Thomas Seyton slowly uttered the concluding part of his speech, he
observed, with indescribable uneasiness, the want of all expression in
his sister's countenance, the marble features remained calm and
imperturbable, and her only sign of attending to her brother's words was
a sudden pressure of both hands to her heart, as if to still its
throbbing, or as though under the influence of some acute pain, while a
stifled cry escaped her trembling lips as she fell back in her chair.
But the feeling, whatever it was, soon passed away, and Sarah became
fixed, rigid, and tranquil, as before.
"Sister!" cried Seyton, "what ails you? Shall I call for assistance?"
"'Tis nothing! Merely the result of surprise and joy at the unhoped-for
tidings you have communicated to me. At last, then, the dearest wish of
my heart is accomplished!"
"I was not mistaken," thought Seyton, "ambition still reigns paramount
in her heart, and will carry her in safety through this trial. Well,
sister," said he, aloud, "what did I tell you?"
"You were right," replied she, with a bitter smile, as she penetrated
the workings of her brother's thoughts, "ambition has again stifled the
voice of maternal tenderness within me!"
"You will live long and happily to cherish and delight in your
daughter."
"Doubtless I shall, brother. See how calm I am!"
"Ah, but is your tranquillity real or assumed?"
"Feeble and exhausted, can you imagine it possible for me to feign?"
"You can now understand the difficulty I felt in breaking this news to
you?"
"Nay, I marvel at it, knowing as you did the extent of my ambition.
Where is the prince?"
"He is here."
"I would fain see and speak with him before the ceremony." Then, with
affected indifference, she added, "And my daughter is also here, as a
matter of course?"
"She is not here at present; you will see her by and by."
"True, there is no hurry; but send for the prince, I entreat of you."
"Sister, I know not why, but your manner alarms me, and there is a
strangeness in your very looks as well as words!"
And Seyton spoke truly. The very absence of all emotion in Sarah
inspired him with a vague and indefinable uneasiness; he even fancied he
saw her eyes filled with tears she hastily repressed. But unable to
account for his own suspicions, he at once quitted the chamber.
"Now, then," said Sarah, "if I may but see and embrace my daughter, I
shall be satisfied. I fear there will be considerable difficulty in
obtaining that happiness; Rodolph will refuse me, as a punishment for
the past. But I must and will accomplish my longing desire! Oh, yes! I
cannot--will not be denied! But the prince comes!"
Rodolph entered, and carefully closed the door after him. Addressing
Sarah in a cold, constrained manner, he said:
"I presume your brother has told you all?"
"He has!"
"And your ambition is satisfied."
"Quite--quite satisfied?"
"Every needful preparation for our marriage has been made; the minister
and attesting witnesses are in the next room."
"I know it."
"They may enter, may they not, madame?"
"One word, my lord. I wish to see my daughter."
"That is impossible!"
"I repeat, my lord, that I earnestly desire to see my child."
"She is but just recovering from a severe illness, and she has undergone
one violent shock to-day; the interview you ask might be fatal to her."
"Nay, my lord, she may be permitted to embrace her mother without danger
to herself."
"Why should she run the risk? You are now a sovereign princess!"
"Not yet, my lord; nor do I intend to be until I have embraced my
daughter!"
Rodolph gazed on the countess with unfeigned astonishment.
"Is it possible," cried he, "that you can bring yourself to defer the
gratification of your pride and ambition?"
"Till I have indulged the greater gratification of a mother's feelings.
Does that surprise you, my lord?"
"It does indeed!"
"And shall I see my daughter?"
"I repeat--"
"Have a care, my lord,--the moments are precious,--mine are possibly
numbered! As my brother said, the present trial may kill or cure me. I
am now struggling, with all my power, with all the energy I possess,
against the exhaustion occasioned by the discovery just made to me. I
demand to see my daughter, or otherwise I refuse the hand you offer me,
and, if I die before the performance of the marriage ceremony, her birth
can never be legitimised!"
"But Fleur-de-Marie is not here; I must send for her."
"Then do so instantly, and I consent to everything you may propose; and
as, I repeat, my minutes are probably numbered, the marriage can take
place while they are conducting my child hither."
"Although 'tis a matter of surprise to hear such sentiments from you,
yet they are too praiseworthy to be treated with indifference. You shall
see Fleur-de-Marie; I will write to her to come directly."
"Write there--on that desk--where I received my death-blow!"
While Rodolph hastily penned a few lines, the countess wiped from her
brows the cold damps that had gathered there, while her hitherto calm
and unmovable features were contracted by a sudden spasmodic agony,
which had increased in violence from having been so long concealed. The
letter finished, Rodolph arose and said to the countess:
"I will despatch this letter by one of my aides-de-camp; she will be
here in half an hour from the time my messenger departs. Shall I, upon
my return to you, bring the clergyman and persons chosen to witness our
marriage, that we may at once proceed?"
"You may,--but no, let me beg of you to ring the bell; do not leave me
by myself; let Sir Walter despatch the letter, and then return with the
clergyman."
Rodolph rang; one of Sarah's attendants answered the summons.
"Request my brother to send Sir Walter Murphy here," said the countess,
in a faint voice. The woman went to perform her mistress's bidding.
"This marriage is a melancholy affair, Rodolph," said the countess,
bitterly, "I mean as far as I am concerned; to you it will be productive
of happiness." The prince started at the idea. "Nay, be not astonished
at my prophesying happiness to you from such a union; but I shall not
live to mar your joys."
At this moment Murphy entered.
"My good friend," said the prince, "send this letter off to my daughter.
Colonel ---- will be the bearer of it, and he can bring her back in my
carriage; then desire the minister and all concerned in witnessing the
marriage ceremony to assemble in the adjoining room."
"God of mercy!" cried Sarah, fervently clasping her hands as the squire
disappeared, "grant me strength to fold my child to my heart! Let me not
die ere she arrives!"
"Alas! why were you not always the tender mother you now are?"
"Thanks to you, at least, for awakening in me a sincere repentance for
the past, and a hearty desire to devote myself to the good of those
whose happiness I have so fearfully disturbed! Yes, when my brother told
me, a short time since, of our child's preservation,--let me say our
child, it will not be for long I shall require your indulgence,--I felt
all the agony of knowing myself irrecoverably ill, yet overjoyed to
think that the birth of our child would be legitimised; that done, I
shall die happy!"
"Do not talk thus."
"You will see I shall not deceive you again; my death is certain."
"And you will die without one particle of that insatiate ambition which
has been your return! By what fatality has your repentance been delayed
till now?"
"Though tardy, it is sincere; and I call Heaven to witness that, at
this awful moment, I bless God for removing me from this world, and that
I am spared the additional misery of living, as I am aware I should have
been a weight and burden to you, as well as a bar to your happiness
elsewhere. But can you pardon me? For mercy's sake, say you do! Do not
delay to speak forgiveness and peace to my troubled spirit until the
arrival of my child, for in her presence you would not choose to
pronounce the pardon of her guilty mother. It would be to tell her a
tale I would fain she never knew. You will not refuse me the hope that,
when I am gone, my memory may be dear to her?"
"Tranquillise yourself, she shall know nothing of the past."
"Rodolph, do you too say I am forgiven! Oh, forgive me--forgive me! Can
you not pity a creature brought low as I am? Alas, my sufferings might
well move your heart to pity and to pardon!"
"I do forgive you from my innermost soul!" said the prince, deeply
affected.
The scene was most heartrending. Rodolph opened the folding-doors, and
beckoned in the clergyman with the company assembled there, that is to
say, Murphy and Baron de Grauen as witnesses on the part of Rodolph, and
the Duc de Lucenay and Lord Douglas on the part of the countess; Thomas
Seyton followed close behind. All were impressed with the awful
solemnity of the melancholy transaction, and even M. de Lucenay seemed
to have lost his usual petulance and folly.
The contract of marriage between the most high and powerful Prince
Gustave Rodolph, fifth reigning Duke of Gerolstein, and Sarah Seyton of
Halsburg, Countess Macgregor, which legitimised the birth of
Fleur-de-Marie, had been previously drawn up by Baron de Grauen, and,
being read by him, was signed by the parties mentioned therein, as well
as duly attested by the signature of their witnesses.
Spite of the countess's repentance, when the clergyman, in a deep solemn
voice, inquired of Rodolph whether his royal highness was willing to
take Sarah Seyton of Halsburg, Countess Macgregor, for his wife, and the
prince had replied in a firm, distinct voice, "I will," the dying eyes
of Sarah shone with unearthly brilliancy, an expression of haughty
triumph passed over her livid features,--the last flash of expiring
ambition.
Not a word was spoken by any of the spectators of this mournful
ceremony, at the conclusion of which the four witnesses, bowing with
deep but silent respect to the prince, quitted the room.
"Brother," said Sarah, in a low voice, "request the clergyman to
accompany you to the adjoining room, and to have the goodness to wait
there a moment."
"How are you now, my dear sister?" asked Seyton. "You look very pale."
"Nay," replied she, with a haggard smile, "fear not for me; am I not
Grand Duchess of Gerolstein?" Left alone with Rodolph, Sarah murmured in
a feeble and expiring voice, while her features underwent a frightful
change, "I am dying; my powers are exhausted! I shall not live to kiss
and bless my child!"
"Yes, yes, you will. Calm yourself; she will soon be here."
"It will not be! In vain I struggle against the approach of Death. I
feel too surely his icy hand upon me; my sight grows dim; I can scarcely
discern even you."
"Sarah!" cried the prince, chafing her damp, cold hands with his. "Take
courage, she will soon be here; she cannot delay much longer!"
"The Almighty has not deemed me worthy of so great a consolation as the
presence of my child!"
"Hark, Sarah! Methinks I hear the sound of wheels. Yes, 'tis she,--your
daughter comes!"
"Promise me, Rodolph, she shall never know the unnatural conduct of her
wretched but repentant mother," murmured the countess, in almost
inarticulate accents.
The sound of a carriage rolling over the paved court was distinctly
heard, but the countess had already ceased to recognise what was passing
around her, her words became more indistinct and incoherent. Rodolph
bent over her with anxious looks; he saw the rising films of death veil
those beautiful eyes, and the exquisite features grow sharp and rigid
beneath the touch of the king of terrors.
"Forgive me,--my child! Let me--see--my--child! Pardon--at least!
And--after--death--the honours--due--to my--rank--" she faintly said,
and these were the last articulate words she uttered,--the one, fixed,
dominant passion of her life mingled, even in her last moments, with the
sincere repentance she expressed and, doubtless, felt. Just at that
awful moment Murphy entered.
"My lord," cried he, "the Princess Marie is arrived!"
"Let her not enter this sad apartment. Desire Seyton to bring the
clergyman hither." Then pointing to Sarah, who was slowly sinking into
her last moments, Rodolph added, "Heaven has refused her the
gratification of seeing her child!"
Shortly after that the Countess Sarah Macgregor breathed her last.