""Inasmuch as ye have done it to the least of these, My brethren, ye have done it unto _Me_.""
"Well, He did more than that for us. What was a moment"s pain compared with His? Audrey, do you think someone could say a prayer?"
Then Audrey suggested that they should send for Michael, and he came at once.
Cyril listened with his eyes closed; but his lips moved, and Audrey"s hand was in his all the time. He seemed a little exhausted after this, and Dr. Abercrombie gave him some restorative.
Michael did not leave the room for long after this. He came in from time to time to see if he were wanted. But there was very little for anyone to do. The flame of life was flickering to its close, and the practised eye of the physician knew that in another hour or two all would be over.
"You can go in," he said to Mollie; "nothing makes any difference now."
Then Mollie crept to her brother"s side.
Cyril lay very quiet; but by and by he roused himself to send a message to Kester. And then he spoke of his father.
"Will you give him my love?" he said. "I wanted to see more of him. I think if I had only known him better I could have loved him."
"I will tell him this, dear Cyril."
"Thank you."
And then he closed his eyes again. And as Audrey bent over him, it seemed to her as though his face were almost perfect in that stillness.
Presently he asked his mother to come closer, and she at once obeyed him.
"Mother," he said pleadingly, "you will try to give me up?"
But she made a gesture of dissent.
"I cannot; I cannot, Cyril! I do not believe I can live without you."
"You have Mollie and Kester," he panted, for her suppressed agitation evidently disturbed him. "Mother, I know what we have been to each other."
Then she fell on her knees with a bitter cry.
"Cyril, it is all my fault that you are lying there. Your mother has killed you. It would not have happened but for me. My boy! my boy! I cannot, I will not live, without you!"
"Mother."
But Michael saw he could bear no more, and at a sign from the doctor he raised the unhappy woman and led her from the room.
"It is too much for them both," he said to Biddy; "neither of them can bear it."
And then he saw the old woman take her mistress in her arms and cry over her like a child.
"Biddy, I shall die too. You will bury me in my boy"s grave--my boy and me together."
But Michael heard no more. He went back to the room just as Cyril was asking for him.
"Burnett, will you say good-bye?" he gasped. "I think it will not be long now, and I have said good-bye to Mollie. Oh! this pain, doctor--it has come back again. Can you do anything for me?"
But Dr. Abercrombie shook his head sorrowfully.
"Never mind, then; it must be borne. Burnett, G.o.d bless you for all you have done! You will be good to her, I know"--with a glance at his betrothed.
"I will," returned Michael Burnett.
And then the two men grasped hands.
Cyril hardly spoke after this--his pain was too intense. But once Audrey saw his eyes rest on her ring. "It is still there," she heard him murmur. And another time he made signs that she should lay his head on her shoulder.
"I want to die so," he whispered. And a little later he asked her to kiss him again.
He lay so quiet now that they thought he was going, and Michael knelt down by the bed and offered up the commendatory prayer. But once more the dark eyes opened: there was a strange, unearthly light in them.
"Inasmuch," he said; "Inasmuch----"
His head fell back a little heavily, and the soul of Cyril Blake was with its G.o.d.
"He does not suffer now," were Audrey"s first words, as she laid him gently down and gave her last solemn kiss. When Michael put his arm round her and led her gently away, she offered no resistance.
"I must leave you for a little while, dear," he said, as he stood beside her a moment; "but I will send Mollie to you."
Then she begged that she might be left alone.
"Her mother will want her; and I would rather, much rather, be alone."
Then, when Michael had gone, she laid her head down on Cyril"s writing-table, and the tears had their way. Until now she had not thought of herself; but now it seemed to her as though the world had grown suddenly cold and dark. He had loved her--oh, how well he had loved her!--and now the Divine will had taken him from her!
But Audrey wept less for herself than for that bright young life cut off so mysteriously in its early bloom, before its youthful promise had come to maturity. But as her tears flowed, certain words she had often read recurred to her mind, and comforted her:
"For honourable age is not that which standeth in length of time, nor that is measured by number of years.
"But wisdom is the gray hair unto men, and an unspotted life is old age.
"For his soul pleased the Lord: therefore hasted He to take him away from the wicked."
Certainly there was no bitterness in Audrey"s grief when, a few hours later, she stood with Michael beside that still form. How beautiful her Cyril looked! she thought; and even Michael marvelled as he gazed at him. He lay there like a young knight who had fallen in his maiden fight, and who in death was still a conqueror. The living man who stood there could almost have envied him, he was so worn and jaded with the battle of life.
"How peacefully he sleeps!" he said, in a moved voice; "he looks as though he were dreaming happily, Audrey. Surely it will comfort his mother to see him like this!"
"She will not see him yet; Biddy says she is too ill. We must give her time to recover herself--the blow has been so awfully sudden. Yes, he looks happy; my darling sleeps well. Did you hear what he said, Michael?--that he was glad that he lay there; that it was all as it should be? If ever a man yielded his life willingly, Cyril did!"
"His life was so hard, you see."
"Yes; but he would have given it all the same if his happiness had been perfect. He would not have stood by and seen even a beggar perish, he was so generous. You would have done it yourself, Michael."