THE WINTER IN ROME.
BUT day after day passed and every inquiry proved unavailing. No one
knew any thing of a man by that name. Mr. Wallingford then engaged the
police to continue the search, which was equally unsuccessful; and they
were forced to the conclusion that Mr. Dudley was not a resident in
Rome.
"But may he not have taken another name?" suggested Gertrude.
"I have thought of that; but what good will it do you to see him? What
object is there in hunting for one who when found very likely will
cause you fresh grief. You were forgetting him; and I consider it very
unfortunate that he ever came in your path."
"I have never forgotten to pray for him one day since we parted,"
faltered Gertrude, turning to leave the room.
Mr. Wallingford did, indeed, consider it a misfortune, when he
witnessed the effect of this incident on his sister. She grew nervous
and excitable; restless when in doors; and when out, continually on the
watch for one who never came.
November was half through, when late one night a boy came to the villa,
asking a servant to let him see the mistress. Gertrude sat alone in
her chamber, having removed her dress, and wrapped herself in a rich
cashmere robe. She directed the servant, in an indifferent tone, to
send the boy to her door.
He addressed her in Italian; "I was to give you this," putting a soiled
paper in her hand.
She took it in the ends of her fingers, went toward the light,
supposing it to be an application for alms; but no sooner did her eye
fall on the signature, than her whole being seemed changed.
She rang the bell repeatedly, sending one servant to her brother's room
to ask him to come to her immediately; another, she directed to call a
carriage, while a third was despatched for all the luxuries the house
could afford.
Then locking the door of her room she threw herself on her knees.
"My God, I thank thee," she murmured. "Give me this soul in answer to
my earnest prayers. Help me to forgive my poor, erring husband, even as
my Saviour has forgiven me."
A knock at the door interrupted her, and presently she put the paper
into Edward's hands.
"Read that," she exclaimed. "Read it and come with me to the bed of a
dying man."
She was fearfully excited, more than he had ever seen her. He put his
hand on her shoulder saying, firmly:
"Gertrude, you must be more calm. I will not allow you to go, until you
promise to control yourself."
There was a flash in her eye which reminded him of former years.
"You cannot prevent me. You have no right to keep me from my husband."
"He is not your husband, Gerty. You do not know but he may have married
again."
She gasped for breath, throwing up her hands in horror. "I never
thought that possible," she murmured faintly.
He left her for a moment; and then returned to find her making a great
effort to control herself.
"The carriage has come," he said, "and I am prepared to accompany you
to the poor sufferer as I would to any distressed countryman; but,
Gerty, for the sake of the respect you owe yourself, do not allow him
to suspect that your affection for him has survived his neglect."
She bowed her head without speaking; and they went to the carriage, the
boy who brought the letter mounting on the box with the driver.
Not a word was said during the drive. Both were too absorbed for
speech; and at length the messenger called out:
"This is the house."
Gertrude jumped from the carriage and gave a searching glance around
the locality, as if to judge by it, what Paul's associations had been.
Taking Edward's arm, she followed the lad up a flight of creaking
stairs. The door of the room was ajar; and as they stopped a moment,
Gerty heard a feeble voice ask eagerly:
"Did you find the lady? Will she come?"
"She is here."
Turning his head Paul Dudley saw Gertrude standing at the entrance.
He was lying on a low couch against the wall propped up with every
article that could be turned to such a use. By his side was an
unpainted bench holding a bowl of drink, and a common earthen plate
with a piece of hard bread.
When he saw her whom he had won in her girlhood, the recollection of
all he had made her suffer rushed to his mind. He gasped out:
"Go away again! I can't endure that you should see my disgrace." But
she did not go. She advanced to the side of the bed, and stood looking
down upon him with such an expression of sorrow that he hid his face.
"I have come at your bidding," she said in a voice so calm that Edward,
who remembered how he had found her almost frantic with excitement,
gazed at her in wonder.
"I couldn't die till I had seen you once more."
"How long have you been ill?"
"Ever since the day I met you at the studio. For years I had been
trying to forget. In one moment the labor was undone."
"Have you had medical advice?"
He laughed bitterly; "I, had advice! Why for weeks together I have not
owned a dollar."
"How have you lived? I mean what has kept you from starving?"
"It is a long story," he answered, "and I am very weak."
She turned to her brother, who gave a whispered message to the lad,
sending him from the room.
"Is that Edward Wallingford?" murmured the sick man. "I did not send
for him."
"This is not a place for a lady to be seen alone," was Edward's reply;
"but that is not the only reason I came. I heard you were in distress;
and I came to relieve you if possible."
"Nobody can do that. I have thrown away the best chance for happiness
a man ever had. You know what I might have been. And you," turning to
Gertrude, "know how wickedly I broke my vows to you. This is what sin
has brought me to."
"We are all sinners," said Gertrude earnestly, "and Christ came to save
those who feel themselves to be lost without his aid. Cannot you throw
yourself upon his mercy, his infinite love?"
"No, no. I've no hope of happiness in this world or the next. I only
wanted to see you once more. You can go away now."
"I would not leave a stranger to die alone in a strange land; and I
will not leave you till some one comes to your assistance."
Her voice, from the effort she was making to keep calm, sounded cold
and constrained. "I have brought food," she added, "Will you have some?"
He immediately stretched out his bony hand eagerly.
Ina few moments steps were heard on the stairs; and Edward went hastily
forward, detaining the physician for whom he had sent, to explain
that a countryman had called for aid, and that he would pay for every
attention shown him.
It was a late hour before Gertrude could be persuaded to leave,
and then only to take a few hours rest, before she made hurried
preparations for the sick man to be removed to her villa. The physician
had told her, Paul had but a few weeks to live; and she had persuaded
her brother to allow him to die under their own roof.
One sight of that haggard face, upon which vice and poverty had left
their mark, had dissipated forever all hope of a reunion in this life,
though she earnestly prayed they might spend an eternity together in
heaven. But she felt that God had given her a work to do; and in order
to accomplish it she must have the dying man where she could readily
gain access to him. "My dream is over," she said to her brother. "The
first shock was when you suggested that he might have married again; an
idea which never had occurred to me. Then when I saw the seal crime had
stamped on his once handsome face, I realized that he is not the Paul
to whom I had given my heart. But he has a precious soul to be saved;
and for that I must labor while he has life."
"You shall have all the help that I can give," was his reply, more
relieved by her words than she could well imagine; "and may God bless
our endeavors."
Early in the forenoon Edward went out to make arrangements for Paul's
removal. It was three hours before he returned, and Gertrude had grown
very impatient. When the carriage stopped at the door, she started to
go forward; but her brother motioned her back, saying:
"The exertion has been too much for the poor fellow; and he has
fainted. You must wait till he has had time to rest."
The physician had accompanied his patient, wishing every sick foreigner
might find such friends. He prescribed perfect quiet for the rest of
the day, adding, "Mr. Dudley is so weak the least excitement may prove
fatal."
This was very trying to Mrs. Wallingford, who yearned to commence her
work. She comforted herself by returning to her closet and besieging
the throne of grace in his behalf.
The next morning Edward reported that the medicine, proper food and
quiet, had produced a most happy result. He had enjoyed some hours of
refreshing sleep; and was now partaking of a bountiful breakfast his
nurse had prepared.