She slept indeed--how fast, how well, one look alone sufficed to reveal!
But Eustace"s eye turned not from the gaze which had first fixed itself upon that marble brow.
"He gazed--how long we gaze in spite of pain, And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain.
In life itself she was so still and fair, That death with gentler aspect withered there."
The long faded beauty of her youth seemed to have returned to Mrs.
Trevor"s countenance, as there in "the rapture of repose," she lay.
Yet the son"s eye became glazed in its intensity, as if the sight was one of horror and fearfulness, whilst the hue of the cold sleeper"s cheek, was life, and health, and beauty, compared with that which settled on his face.
A female servant of the establishment came and found him still standing thus. The woman"s startled alarm at first was great. To behold that tall statue-like figure in the chamber she had left, deserted by all living.
But any weak demonstration of her fear was awed into reason and collectiveness, by the recognition of her dead mistress" son, who at length, as she stood transfixed in her first paroxism of terror to the spot, turned his face towards her, revealing a countenance on which no pa.s.sionate emotion, no strong grief, nothing but a stern, fearful composure, was visible, and demanded in a low, hollow voice:
"When did she die?"
"This morning at nine o"clock," the woman answered, weeping.
"It was enough--she died; what reck"d it how?"
Eustace waved his hand in sign for her to depart. She obeyed immediately, closing the door instinctively behind her; seeming at once to feel and understand that he who had most right to command, within that chamber, had arrived.
And all through the lonely watches of that night; lock and bolt from within, secured, shut out from all intrusion, the agonized communion of the living with the peaceful sorrowless dead. The living in his agony which no tongue could tell; the dead, whose life might have been called one long painful sigh--one sympathetic groan, lying there, serene, senseless, smiling on his pain. But too great had been the shock of the deep waters which now overwhelmed his soul, for Eustace Trevor to consider, and bless G.o.d that it was so. He that but an hour before had come on his way rejoicing--his spirit lifted up as it were on eagles"
wings, "from this dim spot which men call earth," to heaven, now was as a crushed worm--a broken reed,--stricken to the ground in hopeless, powerless despair!
"Why hast thou smitten me, and there is no healing for me? I looked for peace and there is no good; for the time of healing, and behold trouble!"
Such is man in his best estate; his highest strength is weakness--altogether vanity. Let the Almighty call forth his storm to break upon his head; let him wither his gourd--his spirit faints, and is ready to die.
CHAPTER XVI.
Oh wretch! without a tear, without a thought, Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought.
Look on thy earthly victims and despair.
BYRON.
When the morning arrived, some one came knocking for admittance at the door of the chamber of death. The knock was several times repeated before it gained any answer or attention; but finally a slow and heavy tread was heard traversing the apartment; the bolt was feebly drawn, the door opened, and Eustace Trevor stood face to face with Mabel Marryott.
Prepared as she was for this meeting, and in some degree for its being one of no pleasing nature, the woman could not but recoil before the wan and haggard countenance which presented itself to her view.
Her stony eye shrunk--her bloodless heart quailed at first sight of those signs of mighty grief which one night"s agony had imprinted there.
But perhaps it was not so much his appearance as the glance, Eustace, still holding the door in his hand, fixed upon her, which thus affected her; and he, favoured by this movement on her part, was about, without the utterance of a word, again to close the door in her face, when quickly recovering from her momentary weakness she prevented the action, by stepping quickly forward, and attempted to pa.s.s him by. But no; firmly he remained within the doorway, effectually frustrating any such endeavour. Mabel Marryott looked at him with an air of affected surprise, her cool, unabashed demeanour perfectly restored.
"Mr. Eustace," she said, and there was an insolent tinge of patronising pity in her tone; "will you allow me, Sir?"
"No; I will not," was the reply which burst forth in accents, which, if there were aught of human in her mould, must have shook her very soul to its centre; "you are not wanted here; you have done enough--you have helped to kill her; what can you desire more? Begone!--tempt me not to call down the curse of Heaven upon ..."
"Eustace--Eustace--this is folly; this is madness!" said a voice behind him; and the fearful words were stayed on Eustace"s lips, when he looked up, and beheld his brother. Eugene Trevor, looking very pale and ill himself, came forward, and with a glance at Marryott took his brother"s arm, and led him back through the chamber of death into the boudoir beyond, closing the door behind them.
"Good heavens! Eustace, how ill you look! You must not give way in that manner--it is weak, it is unmanly. This has been a blow to us all; but you know it was not altogether unexpected. Her health has long been failing."
But his brother did not heed him. He had lain his head down upon a table near the seat on which he sunk. Those cold, inadequate words did not touch his deep fathomless grief. But still, the sight and presence of one whom, she at least had loved, seemed to have some effect in soothing the pa.s.sionate excitement of misery into which the sight of her she had every reason to abhor, had worked him. He forgot even at the time to think how ill that love had been requited, and scalding tears,
"The very weakness of the brain, Which still confessed without relieving pain,"
were trickling from his burning eye-b.a.l.l.s, when again he raised his face, and turned it towards his brother.
"Eugene, who was with her?" he asked, while at the same time he murmured: "Not that woman?"
"No--I think not; it was so sudden at the last, that I believe, not even her maid knew of it till she came into her room in the morning. The doctor says it was paralysis of the heart."
"Yes--yes, I see; deserted, neglected, even in the hour of death!"
"I saw her the night before, before going to bed," rejoined the other, without noticing this interruption. "She seemed pretty well then, but did not notice me much--she only asked for you;" and there was something of sullen bitterness in the tone of voice in which these words were uttered.
His listener groaned.
"And why was I not sent for--_why_?" he repeated with agonized emphasis.
"Oh, need I ask that question?"
"I told you, that to the last she was not considered in danger,"
continued the other with some impatience; "of course, there could have been no motive."
"No motive; no not more than there ever has been, for all that has been done to wither her heart and shorten her days--not more than there has ever been for the course of cruel, wanton persecution, which would fain, I believe, have crushed the very life blood out of my heart also. But that--that is nothing now; it is the thought of her alone which tortures my soul to madness. To think of all she was made to endure, for my sake and her own--that placid martyred saint; and then no effort made to bring me to her side, to soothe her dying pangs, as I alone could do; her last glance seeking for her son in vain; her eyes closed perhaps by her murderess.... Eugene, has _he_ dared to look upon her?"
"Who! my father?"
"Yes; _your_ father."
"I really do not know whether he has been here, or not, since...."
"He could not--he dare not; only a wretch like her could venture to enter there--to look upon that angel face, and not see utter despair and condemnation breathed forth from each cold feature upon her destroyer."
"Eustace this is strong language; grief has weakened and excited your brain; you want rest and refreshment."
"Rest and refreshment? All the rest I can take is watching by her side, guarding her from any desecrating approach; all refreshment, that which her cold, calm presence can afford. Strong language did you call it, Eugene? Can your mother"s son think any language too strong to express his hatred--abhorrence--against her mighty wrongs? You cannot be in league with those who have destroyed her?"
"I never interfered in those matters," Eugene murmured coldly, but with downcast looks. "It does no good, and is no business of ours, and if you had taken my advice, Eustace, you would have done the same. It would have been the better for you. It is this sort of thing which exasperates my father against you."
Oh the look of mingled scorn, surprise, and sorrowful reproach, which Eugene Trevor, on lifting up his eyes, saw turned upon him. They shrunk again abashed before its power, and ere he dared again to lift them, he heard the slow heavy footsteps of his brother returning to the chamber of death.
Eugene did not follow there, but rising, went down stairs the other way straight to his father"s library. Marryott was there, having doubtless been reporting to her master the unfavourable reception she had received from his eldest son.