"Psha!" said he, "that ever a fine woman like you, Helen, should wish to
appear in her husband's eyes little better than a constant _memento
mori_! Helen, an arrow cannot fly as far in a wet as in a dry air; and a
laughing eye hits where a tearful one fails. You see I already steal my
metaphors from my new study. But, good bye, sweet Helen! and when I
return let me find you a little less dismal."
This was not the way to make me so; nor were his daily visits at this
seducing house, which began in the morning, and lasted till he came home
to dress for dinner; he then returned thither to stay till evening. At
last he chose to dress there, and he did not return till night; nor,
perhaps, would he have done that, had there not been some house-breaking
in our neighbourhood, and he was afraid of leaving the house so
ill-defended. I think that pique and resentment had some share in making
him thus increase in the length as well as constancy of his visits; for
I saw but too clearly that he continued offended with my poor mother:
and I doubted not but that he had owned she was the cause of my refusal
to visit at the house, and that Lady Martindale had added full force to
this bitter feeling.
But he soon lost all resentment against my beloved parent.--Not very
long after his painful conversation with her I was summoned to her, as
she was too ill to rise, and had sent for medical advice.
"Go for my husband instantly," cried I.
"My mistress forbade me go for him," replied her faithful Juan (one of
my father's manumised slaves), "and I canno go."
"Then she does not think very ill of herself?" said I.
"No, but I think very bad indeed."
And when I saw her, my fears were as strongly excited.
"I am going, I am going fast, my child," said she: "but I do not wish to
have Pendarves sent for yet: I wish to have you a little while without
any divided feelings, and all my own once more; when he comes, the wife
will seduce away the child."
"How can you think so?" said I, giving way to an agony of grief; "and
how can you be so barbarous as to tell me you are dying?"
"My poor child! I wished long ago to prepare you, but you would not be
prepared. For your sake I still wished to live. You would have better
spared me years ago, Helen! but this is cruel; and I will try to behave
better."
As soon as her physician arrived, and had felt her pulse, I saw by his
countenance that he was considerably alarmed; and the first feeling of
my heart was to send for my husband, for him on whom I had been
accustomed to rely in the hour of affliction. But I dared not, after
what had passed! and I tried to rally all the powers of my mind to meet
the impending evil, while I raised my thoughts to Him who listens to the
cry of the orphan.
The physician had promised to come again in the evening. He did so; and
then I learnt that there was indeed no hope; and I also learnt, by the
agony of that moment, that I had in reality hoped till then; and, more
like an automaton then aught alive, I sat by the fast exhausting
sufferer.
Pendarves returned at night, and heard with anguish uncontrollable, not
only that my mother was dying, but had forbidden that he should be sent
for; and he arrived at the house in a state little short of distraction,
nor could he be kept from the chamber of death.
His countenance, as he stood at the foot of the bed, told all the agony
of his mind. They tell me so, for I saw him not; I could only see that
object whom I was soon to behold no more!
My mother knew him; read, no doubt, all his wild wan look expressed; and
smiling kindly, held out her hand to him. He was instantly on his knees
by her bed-side; and she seemed, from the look she gave him, to feel all
the maternal love for him revive which she had experienced through life.
Your husband, my dear friend, now came to perform his interesting duty,
and we left her alone with him.
Oh! what a night succeeded! But Pendarves felt more than I. My faculties
were benumbed: I had made such unnatural efforts for some time past to
appear cheerful, while my heart was breaking, that I was too much
exhausted to be able to endure this new demand on my fortitude and my
strength; therefore already was that merciful stupor coming over me,
which saved, I firmly believe, both my life and my reason.
My mother frequently, during that night, joined my hand in that of
Pendarves, grasped them thus united, while her eyes were raised to
heaven in prayer, but spoke not. At length, however, just as the last
moment was approaching, she faltered out--"Seymour, be kind, be very
kind to my poor child; she has only you now."
He replied by clasping me to his breast; and in one moment more all was
over!
You know what followed; you know that for many weeks I was blessedly
unconscious of every thing, and that I lay between death and life under
the dominion of fever. My first return of consciousness and of speech
showed itself thus:--I heard voices below, and recognised them, no
doubt, as female voices; for I drew back the curtain, and asked my
mother's faithful Alice whose voice I heard. But the joy my speaking
gave the poor creature was instantly damped, for I added--"But I
conclude it is my mother's voice, and I dare say she will be here
presently."
Alice, bursting into tears, replied--"Your blessed mother never come
now."
"Oh, but by-and-by will do:" and I closed my eyes again.
Alice now ran down stairs to call my husband, and tell him what
had passed. The voices I heard were those of Mrs. Oswald and Lady
Martindale, who had called every day to inquire for me; and Pendarves
had been this day prevailed upon to go down to them. But he bitterly
repented his complaisance when he found I had heard them talking;
though he rejoiced in my restored hearing, which had seemed quite gone.
He hastily, therefore, dismissed his visitors, and resumed his station
by my bed-side. I knew him, and spoke to him; but damped all his
satisfaction by asking for my mother, and wondering where she was. He
could not answer me, and was doubtful what he ought to reply when he
recovered himself.
At this moment the physician entered; and hearing what had passed,
declared that the sooner he could make me understand what had happened,
and shed tears (for I had shed none yet), the sooner I should recover,
and he advised his beginning to do it directly.
Accordingly, when I again asked for her he said--"Do you not see my
black coat, Helen? and do you not remember our loss?"
"O, yes; but I thought our mourning for the dear child was over."
"You see!" said Pendarves mournfully.
The physician replied--"Till her memory is restored, though her life is
spared, a cure is far distant; but persevere."
In a fortnight I was able to take air; but I still wondered where my
mother was, though I soon forgot her again.
But one day Pendarves asked me if I would go and visit the grave of my
child, which I had not visited for some time. I thankfully complied, and
he dragged me in a garden chair to the church door.
It was not without considerable emotion that he supported me to that
marble slab which now covered my mother as well as my child, and I
caught some of his trembling agitation.
"Look there, my poor Helen!" said he.