"And now, Paul," she continued, looking up at him with the love-light shining in her eyes, "the time has come when you may know all.
Forgive me, dear, for the long waiting. But I had to be sure as you will see."
She drew from her bosom a folded paper and placed it in his hand.
Paul opened it, and saw it was a letter. He held it closer, and then, in the white moonlight pouring from that Southern sky--great G.o.d!--he saw the writing of his Lady of Long Ago!
And this is what Paul read:
"MY SWEET SISTER:
"I know that I must leave this beautiful earth. Already I feel beside me, waking as well as sleeping, a mysterious presence, who lays his cold hand upon my naked breast, and claims me for his own. It is Death, my Natalie, that stalks beside me, and that day is not far distant when his icy fingers will close relentlessly upon my quivering heart--and it will beat no more.
"Ah! my little one, G.o.d keep thee safe from such griefs as I have borne. But G.o.d grant thee the happiness I have also known.
"And now, child, I must talk to thee as to the woman thou wilt be when thy dear eyes read these words--a score of years from now! Thou wilt be a beautiful woman then--and I--a little dust will still remain, perhaps.
"But, listen. My son, the baby Prince--thou wilt watch over him with tender care, I know. And then--for thee the time will pa.s.s quickly, while I lie slowly crumbling--before thou knowest it, almost, he will be a man--and crowned.
"Then, Natalie, thou wilt read this message from the living dead, for from that time on Paul Verdayne will need thee. He is my true lover, sweetheart, and when his son is set apart from his life forever by the necessities of state--then will he know his hour of greatest need. Search him out, Natalie, my sister--Paul Verdayne, the Englishman.
"Go to Lucerne, in May (and here followed the name of the Swiss hotel Paul knew so well) and there thou wilt find him, without fail.
"Comfort him, I charge thee. It must ever be for thee a sacred duty. And, child! I would not have my lover left alone, to go through life with the shadow of his great grief hanging ever over him. There will still be sunlight in the world--and love. And Paul will be in his prime.
"Then will it be the high noon of his life. But what of love, for him? Ah! I scarce dare dream that dream. But believe this, sweet Natalie, Death would lose half its dread could I but know that Paul and thou couldst love."
Paul sat like one who saw a vision. Unknowingly he plucked the young buds from the rose-tree by the bench--and crushed them. Far away mourned a delirious nightingale; and a weeping willow softly shivered.
The moon looked down from the midst of heaven; the infinite celestial vault increased until it became yet more infinite; it burned and breathed; all the earth gleamed with silvery l.u.s.tre; the air was wonderful, at once fresh and overpowering, full of sweetness; it was an ocean of perfumes.
Divine night! Magical night! The forests, full of shade, were motionless, and cast their vast shadows. The pools were calm; the cold and darkness of the waters lay mournfully enclosed in the dark walls of the garden. The virgin thickets of young cherry trees timidly stretched their roots into the chill earth, and from time to time shook their leaves, as if they were angry and indignant that the beautiful Zephyr, the wind of night, glided suddenly toward them and covered them with kisses.
All the landscape slept. On high all breathed--all was beautiful--solemn. The vastness and wondrousness possessed Paul"s soul; and crowds of silvery visions emerged softly from their hiding places. Divine night! Magical night!
Suddenly all came to life; the forests, the pools, the _steppes_. The majestic voice of the nightingale burst forth again, now in a paeon of praise. It seemed as if the moon, to listen to it, stood still in the midst of heaven. Then the song ceased. All was silent.
Paul and his lady rose then, and hand in hand, walking softly as if in the presence of one that was not dead, but sleeping, they sought the house together. And as they reached the doorway, Paul saw there for the first time, inscribed on the lintel in letters of gold, now strangely silvered in that marvellous light:
"_On thy house will the blessing of the Lord rest for evermore._"
THE END.