CHAPTER XVI.

"IT IS BEST SO, AMY, DEAR."

And all through that dreadful night raged one of the most terrible and disastrous typhoons that had visited Japan for many years. Mrs. Nugent and Lord Martinworth, not returning to their respective domiciles, an immediate search was instituted, but as the darkness deepened the wind and rain increased in fury. It was a sheer impossibility to stand up against the raging gale, and eventually the hopeless search had to be temporarily abandoned. In that one night the lake rose six feet, huge landslips descended from Nantai-san, and bridges and roads and dwellings were washed away and demolished, as if mere sheets of paper.

As dawn approached the torrents ceased, and the wind abated.

At length the sun rose in full glory, casting in brilliant irony its penetrating rays over this grievous scene of waste and desolation. And mingling with the foliage of a great tree blown across the still raging stream the auburn tint of Pearl Nugent's hair shone like red gold among the green.

On the upsetting of the boat she had been borne down the torrent. A few seconds more and she would have been dashed over the rocks, hundreds of feet high, which form the cascade. But some hours before, during the fury of the storm, a giant pine tree had fallen with a deafening crash half across the stream. It was that tree that saved Pearl from a watery grave, for wedged, as in a vice, between a fork of its branches, her bruised, unconscious form was ultimately discovered. Her head and shoulders were out of the water, and the rushing stream, instead of loosening, had apparently been the means of entangling only more securely the rent and dripping garments to the branches of the tree. From the bank could be seen her head, with its ashen face and closed eyes, thrown back and pillowed, as it were, upon a wealth of green foliage, while the torrent tore around her with raging fury, in its onward relentless course battering and bruising the delicate limbs.

It was at considerable risk to their own lives that Ralph and Count Carlitti, and other brave men with them, crept cautiously and with the greatest difficulty along the trunk of the tree, over the greater part of which the water was still rushing. By dint of clinging with all their strength to the upstanding branches they at last succeeded after many vain attempts and countless perils, in reaching the tossed, unconscious form.

Count Carlitti clung on to Ralph with all his force, while the latter laid himself down flat on the trunk, and set about cutting away, as best he could, the remnants of Pearl's clothing from the branches. After a wearisome, and what appeared an endless time, this difficult task was at length successfully accomplished, enabling them to drag the inanimate body gently and tenderly along the trunk of the tree, finally rescuing it from the watery bed in which it had been helplessly tossed by the stormy elements for so many hours.

As Ralph bent his head, resting it on her breast, his face brightened somewhat.

"Her heart beats," he murmured. "Thank God she still lives."

Between them they bore her home, and laid her with loving care on the little bed from which Pearl Nugent was fated never to rise again, for human skill was unavailing.

The army doctor from Hong-Kong, who some weeks before had attended Martinworth, was still at Chuzenji. He did his utmost to relieve all pain, and indeed on recovering consciousness Pearl suffered but little. Her spine, independent of other severe internal injuries, was discovered fatally damaged, and Pearl and those around her knew that she was dying. She lingered all that day and all the next, sweet and patient to the end. Rosina and Amy and Lady Martinworth were there. They never left the bedside, and the latter's medical knowledge and gentle, experienced nursing helped greatly to lighten and relieve those last sad and distressing days.

Shortly after Mrs. Nugent had awakened from the deathlike swoon that had lasted so many hours, and when in spite of her diminishing forces she was quite capable of understanding what was wanted of her, she slowly and painfully turned her head on the pillow, and letting her veiled orbs linger on the face bending over her, she read the mute question expressed by Lady Martinworth's miserable eyes.

She put out her hand and gently drew her face to hers.

"He is--drowned," she whispered. "We were--together. The boat upset--in the storm."

That was all. And surely when her spirit stands in judgment before the Throne, Pearl Nugent will be pardoned for having said no more.

She would lie silent and motionless, with her beautiful soft grey eyes, dark with the shadow of death, wide open, while from time to time she would smile with an angelic sweetness at the three women who were watching her.

She spoke but little. Indeed with these few rare exceptions she hardly noticed her watchers, for her thoughts seemed far away from all earthly things. The next day, however, towards the end, as Amy, weeping, was leaning over the bed, she smiled back into her eyes, and whispered very low:

"It is--best so, Amy, dear. Do not weep--for me. I am quite content--more content, more at peace than I have been--for many, many long years. If I had lived--I should not have been happy--nor--should I--have made others--Stanislas--dear, good kind Stanislas--happy. Yes,--it is--best so. I am--quite ready,--quite--willing to--die. No more--difficulties, or--dread, or--terrible indecision,--or--uncertainty now. No more unhappiness--now. All--soon will be made--clear, Amy, dear. When--I am gone--be kind--to Stanislas,--poor--Stanislas, for--he--will grieve, and thank--God--he--will never--know--now, never--know--now. Do not--weep for me, darling. I--have--always--loved--you--Amy. Please--please--do not--weep--so."

And then after a minute or two she sighed and asked: "Where--is he?"

"Ralph went to Tokyo at once to tell him," answered Amy, her voice choked with sobs. "Telegraphic communication has been interrupted by the storm, and the road is washed away. No one can go down or come up from Nikko. Ralph, however, will have got there, Pearl, my darling, even if he had to climb twenty mountains. They will soon be here, darling."

"Yes," whispered Pearl softly, "he will be here--before I die. He is--coming. He knows--I want him. But he--will grieve, poor--Stanislas,--poor--true--heart, he--will grieve,--but--thank God!--he will--never--know--now."

Then she turned her head, and for the last time, and in unbroken silence, she gazed out far before her at the mountains and the lake.

It was the following morning shortly after dawn that the doctor told them she could not last much longer. And even as he was making this sad announcement Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, accompanied by Ralph, who had met him half way to Tokyo, weary and worn and travel stained, appeared outside the house.

Pearl, who had been lying partially unconscious for many hours, suddenly awoke from her torpor, and raising her head from the pillow, gazed fixedly with shining eyes through the open _shoji_.

"Stanislas has come! He is near me!" she called in a clear and ringing voice, "Bring him to me."

Rosina exchanged a glance of surprise with Amy as she left the room, for from where Pearl was lying in bed it was impossible for her to see her lover, and silence reigned,--no word had been spoken.

Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, exhausted by sorrow and fatigue, went alone into the room of his dying love. And when, over an hour later, the others, anxious at the ominous silence, ventured within the death-chamber, they found him kneeling by the bedside--unconscious,--his dark hair mingling on the pillow with Pearl's auburn curls, while her dead cheek was pressed against his lips, and her dead arms were clasped around his neck.

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Stanislas never completely recovered from the shock and grief of Pearl's tragic death. Shortly following her loss he left the Diplomatic Service. He was strongly advised against this step by his many friends, amongst whom, as his truest and his best, he counted not only the Rawlinsons and Sir Ralph and Lady Nicholson, but his former colleague, Count Carlitti, who in fair Japan, falling a victim to the freshness of Muriel Millward-Fraser, had promptly, within two months of Mrs. Nugent's death, placed his ancient name and title, to say nothing of his "leetle fortune," in all their completeness at the extremely pretty feet of "_cette belle jeune fille Anglaise_."

But the counsels of de Güldenfeldt's friends fell on deaf ears. He took a hatred for the Service, and never for a moment in the future did he regret his former busy and interesting life. He made England the country of his adoption, buying himself a small but beautiful estate in one of the western counties. There, surrounded by his lovely garden and orchid houses, his books, and portraits and souvenirs of Pearl, he passed--if not a happy--at any rate a peaceful existence, and when not at home he spent much of his time with the Nicholsons, whose lovely place was in the adjoining county.

His devotion to his god-daughter, Pearl Nicholson, was profound. And to her alone was he ever known to mention the name of his dead love. Many were the talks that this strange pair, the elderly, saddened man and the innocent child, held on this subject. But to the last, to no other person, not even to Rosina or to Amy, did Stanislas de Güldenfeldt ever refer directly to that unforgotten page that influenced every thought and action of his life.

This sweet confidence between the man and child had arisen in this way.

Seven or eight years after Pearl's death, while the Nicholsons were paying their annual visit to Lynlath, Stanislas entered one day, somewhat unexpectedly, into his library. There, in front of a full length and most successful portrait of Mrs. Nugent, painted after her death from photographs and description, was standing, with uplifted head and sorrowful visage--his little god-daughter. The child's hands were clasped behind her back, and the same gleam of sun that lit up the sweet, lovely face of the portrait fell across the golden locks of the little girl, as she turned towards Stanislas with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"You have, godpapa," she said, "so many pictures of this beautiful lady with the large grey eyes. What lovely hair she has! But what a sad, sad face! I feel I love her so, and often and often I come in here and look at her, and she seems to talk to me. Tell me about her, godpapa. Did you love her too?"

And Stanislas de Güldenfeldt took Pearl's namesake on his knee, and with sad eyes gazing back far into the past he told her of his eternal love.

_Printed by Holland Rowbottom, "Graphic" Office, Bournemouth._

Transcriber Notes:

Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_.

Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS.

Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.

Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted.

On page 2, "excidedly" was replaced with "excitedly".

On page 17, "obtaintaining" was replaced with "obtaining".

On page 17, "to to" was replaced with "to".

On page 59, a quotation mark was added before "By Jove!".

On page 64, the comma after "ashamed to acknowledge her as his cousin" was replaced with a period.

On page 87, "shirne" was replaced with "shrine".

On page 118, "cousins,and" was replaced with "cousins, and".

One page 132, "Mrs" was replaced with "Mrs."

On page 192, "rivetted" was replaced with "riveted".

On page 201, a period was added after "as she recalled those moment".

On page 220, a quotation mark was added after "and--and----"

On page 225, "with-without" was replaced with "without".

On page 264, "pursuade" was replaced with "persuade".

End of Project Gutenberg's It Happened in Japan, by Baroness Albert d'Anethan