"Best beloved one, wanting thee,
What were all the world to me,
With its sunshine, love, and flowers;
With its brightest, happiest hours?
Best beloved one, wanting thee,
What were all the world to me?
Sunshine mocks me with its play;
Love lives out but half his day;
Brightest hours are fraught with gloom;
Flowers waste their sweet perfume.
Best beloved one, wanting thee,
What were all the world to me?
Life were one long, weary moan,
Yielding nothing to atone
For a hopeless night of fear,
Dark, and desolate, and drear.
Best beloved one, wanting thee,
What were all the world to me?
Life is life alone with thee;
Love is love eternally.
Press me closely to thy heart--
Life nor death can bid us part.
Best beloved one, having thee;
Love is all the world to me."
--CORNELIA McFADDEN.
Deep silence reigned in Lady Von Herbig's residence, for she was very
ill. Heavy draperies were suspended from the windows; the bell was
muffled, and no visitors were received save Herr Bolton, who stood
faithfully at the side of the inmates. But this calm only reigned
externally. In the hearts of both sick one and daughter the billows
rolled high. The attendant physician's face was grave; he shook his
head, and called several times during the day. Sibylla would not
have been Sibylla if these indications had not been intelligible to
her. Lady Von Herbig continually exclaimed that she would never rise
from this sick-bed; but upon this Sibylla reckoned little. So long
as she could remember, her mother had prophesied her death, not only
every year, but every month. This time, however, it was serious.
Sibylla had herself asked the doctor whether her mother's death was
imminent, and he had replied: "So long as there is breath, there may
be hope; meanwhile----" and a significant gesture closed the
conversation. Then Sibylla perfectly understood the situation.
Those are bitter hours when a daughter stands by the bedside of a
dying mother with whom she has not been kindly; but still more bitter
will it be if conscience speaks loudly of neglected duty, of love
withheld, and will not be silenced. Sibylla's nature was so
different from her mother's that she had always found herself in
opposition to her. If Sibylla had been weak she would have conformed
to her mother's opinions and ways; but she was quite the contrary.
How often, therefore, they had met in collision! O, what would
Sibylla now give to have blotted out all those scenes! How she was
stung by the recollection of her mother's helplessness, who, in spite
of all her eccentricities, at the foundation lived only to prove her
love for her child! And now Sibylla would reach out both hands to
keep this mother, if she could; for when she was gone she should
stand more solitary and alone than many others. Besides, the thought
of death caused a shudder. She had always kept aloof from such
scenes, had wished to close her ears and never hear the dreadful
words, death, grave, dissolution. Why was death inevitable in this
world? O, what horrible feelings must possess one leaving this
beautiful, sunny life for a gloomy valley leading to a dark grave!
She could not understand God, and had called upon him to answer: Why
dost thou send life in order to destroy it? Why impart love to the
heart in order to make it suffer the bitterness of separation? Why
only sanctify in order to put to death? Heretofore her life had
glided so peacefully; the first whirlpool she had encountered, but
happily passed through, had been Dr. Uhlhart's declaration. She had
never sung the "Erl-king" since that eventful evening, and now a
fearful cataract appeared before her life's way. Would it destroy
the rudderless boat?
"No excitement," was the physician's peremptory commands for Lady Von
Herbig. Ah! the poor woman herself was so frightfully excited. The
thought of leaving her spoiled darling alone, without friends or
money, was so horrible to her. Then, too, she reproached herself
with: "Why have I reared her so that she must now be dependent upon
others?" And her weakness pictured the condition darker than it
really was. She now desired to do right; she now wished to provide
for her child; and had not Herr Bolton, the wealthy merchant,
intertwined himself about her? Would her child not be as safe with
him as in Abraham's bosom? And was he not now acting the part of a
faithful son toward her? O, if she could only lend her vision to
Sibylla, at least this time she would see it to be for the best, and
with one act make amends for all her earlier omissions. Therefore in
this clear hour she begged her daughter to become Herr Bolton's wife.
She begged, she importuned, she entreated in the most tender
expressions; but her daughter seemed to prefer walking barefooted to
riding in an elegant equipage. But Sibylla could not maintain her
opposition long against her mother's miserable, wan, pleading face.
She answered evasively--the doctor had demanded freedom from all
excitement--then the sick one became more urgent. "I can not die in
peace," she cried; "O, will you not make my departure easy?"
Sibylla suffered far greater pangs than her mother. She endeavored
to change the conversation, and withdrew from the room. In vain! As
a shipwrecked manner turns his longing gaze upon the land that
appears like a star of hope to save him from a watery grave, so Lady
Von Herbig clung to the hope of her daughter's marriage to Herr
Bolton. Sibylla heard the roar of the cataract which threatened to
ingulf her; but she stood firmly, and clung to the single branch that
grew on its edge.
Should she go to Theodora for advice? O no! Her deepest secret,
that she had not even revealed to herself, much less carried to her
lips--only the one who knew that could advise her.
The mother grew worse, and Sibylla became exhausted on account of the
care, which she would permit no one to share. Leaving the sick-room
to obtain some rest, her thoughts whirled like glowing foot-prints
through her brain; for sleep and peace were fled. Another day her
mother was able to persuade Sibylla more than usual, and she uttered
the binding "yes," and helplessly permitted the happy bridegroom to
place an engagement ring, which was in readiness, upon her finger.
_Farewell, thou golden sun!_
It was a relief to Sibylla that Herr Bolton found it necessary to
leave the city on the following morning to attend to some urgent
business; but he assured Lady Von Herbig that he should return in
three days, with which arrangement she felt satisfied. She now
seemed to improve. Joy apparently caused oblivion of pain; but it
was only a joyous misery to Sibylla to know she had done a loving act
for her mother's sake, the great cost of which she would soon forget;
and she did forget it, as well as the betrothed, and when the time
came for his return she shrank back in horror.
On the day of Herr Bolton's arrival Lady Von Herbig was alone with
her daughter.
"Raise me up a little," she said; "I have something to say to you."
Sibylla obeyed; then knelt by the bed, and clasped the small, white
hand of the sick one in hers.
"You are my dear, good child," she began; "you have given me nothing
but pleasure. I feel that my end is near. Will you fulfill your
dying mother's request?"
Sibylla bowed her head. What more could she do than had already been
done in the giving of herself away? To her every thing else was now
of little consequence.
"See," she continued; "I have only a few days to live. I feel death
at my heart. When I die where shall you go? We have no relatives.
To your guardian, who has always treated us hardly and contemptibly?
No; the wife's best place is in the house of her husband. Decide, my
child, to become the wedded wife of thy Edward. To see thee crowned
with the myrtle-wreath has always been my fondest wish; fulfill it to
me."
Sibylla shrank inwardly. The roar of the cataract deafened her ear
and soul. She felt that she had fallen irrevocably into its depths;
then only a moment and all would be over--the sooner the better.
_Farewell, thou beaming sun!_
"Will you, my angel?"
"Yes."
"O, what joy you have given me! Now my eyes can close in peace!"
"When shall it be?"
"To-morrow, for no time must be lost. The good Edward--O, what a
husband you will get!--has every thing ready. Even the bridal
garments are prepared for you!"
"One stipulation, dear mamma," begged Sibylla.
"Every thing, every thing! O, he will carry you in his arms. Roses
and violets----"
"Let no strangers be present," interrupted Sibylla.
At twelve o'clock the next day an altar was erected near the bedside
of the hourly failing sick one. Beautiful flowers covered and
adorned it. The dying mother, somewhat fantastically attired, sat up
with folded hands. Before the altar knelt a marble image, with
living, but to-day weary and troubled eyes. A white satin garment
enfolded her slender figure, and had the myrtle-wreath not crowned
her head with its token of Spring, one would have seen what appeared
to be a maiden of snow. Tearless the bride knelt there; kindly the
bridegroom looked down upon her; the clergyman joined their hands.
"Until death part you," he said--then all was over. Lady Von Herbig,
under great excitement, embraced her children with hot tears and
kisses. "You have sweetened my dying hour," she exclaimed to one and
the other. Then followed extreme exhaustion, and the physician
directed all to leave the room.
"It will not be long," he said; "she has concentrated all her
strength, body and mind, in this hour. She will soon pass away."
The next morning Herr Bolton and his wife stood by the inanimate form
of their mother. "Now you belong wholly to me," said the young
husband.
Sibylla could not weep.
"_Farewell, thou golden sun!_"