Que es la vida? Un frenesi;
Que es la vida? Una ilusion,
Una sombra, una ficcion,
Y el mayor bien es pequeño.
Que toda la vida es sueño,
Y los sueños, sueño son.
LA VIDA ES SUEÑO, JORN. 2.
Nothing could exceed his astonishment and distress as he read this short
and decided missive. He stood speechless--rooted to the ground--for a
few moments unable to believe his eye-sight. He would have staked more
than his life upon Margaret's constancy; and at such a time to break
with him--now, when her uncle lay, perhaps, dying. There was a
refinement in her cruelty. He could not comprehend a word; and stood
staring in bewilderment on the paper in his hand.
"I fear you have received some bad news, Mr. Haveloc?" said Mrs.
Fitzpatrick, looking anxiously at him.
"I have--very bad," he said. "My friend, Mr. Grey, is very ill;
dangerously, I am sure. I must not lose a moment: he has summoned me. I
must set out instantly."
They exchanged a hurried farewell; and in another hour he was flying
along the road as fast as four horses, and postilions, bribed to the
utmost, could whirl his carriage.
He still held in his hand the letter which had summoned him to Ashdale.
He read it again and again.
What could have occasioned this sudden change? He was lost in conjecture
and dismay.
At one moment he thought it possible that some news might have reached
her of his attendance upon Aveline; and that she misinterpreted his
visits into a devotion that had never swerved from herself. But he at
once rejected this supposition as impossible.
Had she mistaken his conduct in that particular, she would have demanded
an explanation. Nothing need have deterred her from doing so. She had
heard from some officious friend of his attentions to Mrs. Maxwell
Dorset, whose memory he frequently cursed, but never with such fervour
as now. And her delicacy prevented her alluding to the cause of her
resentment.
Anger succeeded here to distress. If she could cast him off for an
affair which took place before he had become acquainted with her, she
certainly was not worth the regret which he could not, however, entirely
stifle. If her love could be snapped like a thread the moment she
entertained any cause of displeasure against him, it was not worth
preserving. It was the most singular, certainly, the most unjustifiable
step he had ever heard of. However, he had nothing to do but to
acquiesce. It was not his part to overcome her unreasonable scruples.
No! he thanked Heaven, he could take the matter as coolly as she
appeared to do. Her commands were certainly expressed with the utmost
brevity--he supposed she did not consider him worth the waste of many
words. Some ladies could dismiss a lover with more ease than a lap-dog.
He commended her decision, and there was an end of the matter.
Having come to these reflections, he threw himself with great dignity
into a corner of the carriage, and attempted to go to sleep.
Not succeeding in this attempt, the next best thing was to discover that
he was going at a snail's pace, and to fly in a passion with the
post-boys; and to work himself up into a fever of excitement that
increased every mile of the way. Suddenly he recollected the Will that
he had induced Mr. Grey to make--a Will that deprived Margaret of what
would have undoubtedly been her inheritance.
How little had he ever thought that any circumstance could occur which
would lead him to regret such an arrangement. Now it must be cancelled
without delay--a new Will made.
Good Heaven, if he should be too late! And he let down the front
glasses, and bestowed another exordium on the postillions.
At last he reached Ashdale. It was one o'clock in the morning; the doors
were opened as soon as the horses' feet were heard, a plain proof that
he had been anxiously expected. He threw himself from the carriage and
hurried up to the servant in the hall.
"Mr. Grey--"
"He is very ill, Sir; not expected to live till morning."
"Not till morning--good Heaven! and that Will--" he muttered to himself
as he rushed upstairs. He thought more of Margaret than of Mr. Grey
even then. Margaret was seated at the bed-side close to her uncle's
pillow; as still and as white as a figure moulded in wax. Her eyes were
fixed upon his face; one hand rested in his; the other hung listless by
her side. Mr. Casement stood leaning against the foot of the bed,
looking, to do him justice, very disconsolate. Margaret lifted up her
heavy eyes, and gave one look at Mr. Haveloc. He was in mourning; a
token of respect he had thought proper to pay Aveline; the sight sent a
thrill to her heart.
She leaned over her uncle, and kissed his forehead.
"My dear uncle, Mr. Haveloc," she whispered.
Mr. Haveloc stepped close to the bed, and took Mr. Grey's hand, which
Margaret resigned to him.
"Ah, Claude!" said Mr. Grey with a faint smile.
They were the last words he spoke. Almost directly afterwards he fell
into a kind of doze; his eyes half closed.
Mr. Haveloc turned abruptly round, seized Mr. Casement by the arm and
led him to the window. He had never addressed Mr. Casement in his life
before, and that gentleman might be pardoned for looking extremely
surprised on the occasion.
"Tell me--how is he?" said Mr. Haveloc.
"Anybody might see that with half an eye, I should think," muttered Mr.
Casement more gruffly than usual, for he had a great mind to cry.
"Good Heaven, can nothing be done!" exclaimed Mr. Haveloc clasping his
hands.
"Nothing at all," returned Mr. Casement. "The doctor left at eight
o'clock, and Mr. Warde at ten. When the doctor and parson both go, I
take it, there is an end of everything."
"Good Heaven! and I have something of the last importance to communicate
to him!" exclaimed Mr. Haveloc. "Ah, youngster! clever of you to leave
it to the last," said Mr. Casement.
"Good Heaven! when I was away--when I did not know it before. It
concerns his niece--"
"Oh! some rigmarole about Miss Peggy you may tell it to me. I am
appointed one of her guardians."
Mr. Haveloc turned abruptly away, and stood by the bed-side, watching
Mr. Grey with eager interest. At length, he thought it just possible
that Margaret might have arranged everything with her uncle before
writing to him.
"Did your uncle know of the resolution you announced to me in your
letter of yesterday?" he asked coldly.
"Hush! no. Don't speak to him;" said Margaret shrinking back with an
appearance of terror.
He sighed, and moved to a little distance from her chair. Mr. Casement
came close to the bed, and he saw that all would soon be over. Margaret
sat paralysed with fear, watching the peculiar and earnest expression of
the countenance which marks that when the senses are sealed, the soul is
still awake, and waiting to be released. And it is at once awful and
sublime when no pause or cessation of consciousness takes place, and the
spirit steps from one existence to the other without an interval of
slumber.
"Come little woman--come away;" said Mr. Casement taking her hand and
raising her from her chair, "you can do nothing more. He will never see,
or know any one again."
She had no power to resist; she would have opposed nothing. She suffered
him to lead her in silence from the room; and so was spared the last
appalling moment when the spirit vanishes from its human abode.