CHAPTER XXI

In the evening, I repaired to the chamber of Mr Harley, I sat by his bed-side, I gazed mournfully on his flushed, but vacant countenance--I took his hand--it was dry and burning--the pulse beat rapidly, but irregularly, beneath my trembling fingers. His lips moved, he seemed to speak, though inarticulately--but sometimes raising his voice, I could distinguish a few incoherent sentences. In casting my eyes round the room, I observed the scattered articles of his dress, his cloaths were black, and in his hat, which lay on the ground, I discovered a crape hatband. I continued to hold his burning hand in mine.

'She died,'--said he--'and my unkindness killed her--unhappy Emma--thy heart was too tender!'--I shuddered--'No, no,'--continued he, after a few minutes pause, 'she is not married--she dared not give her hand without her heart, _and that heart was only mine_!' he added something more, in a lower tone, which I was unable to distinguish.

Overcome by a variety of sensations, I sunk into a chair, and, throwing my handkerchief over my face, indulged my tears.

Sometimes he mentioned his wife, sometimes his mother.--At length, speaking rapidly, in a raised voice--'My son,'--said he, 'thou hast no mother--but Emma will be a mother to thee--she will love thee--_she loved thy father_--her heart was the residence of gentle affections--yet, I pierced that heart!'

I suspected, that a confused recollection of having seen me on recovering from the state of insensibility, in which he had been brought, after the accident, into our house, had probably recalled the associations formerly connected with this idea. The scene became too affecting: I rushed from the apartment. All the past impressions seemed to revive in my mind--my thoughts, with fatal mechanism, ran back into their old and accustomed channels.--For a moment, conjugal, maternal, duties, every consideration _but for one object_ faded from before me!

In a few hours, Mr Lucas returned with the physician;--I attended them to the chamber, heedfully watching their looks. The fever still continued very high, accompanied with a labouring, unsteady pulse, a difficult respiration, and strong palpitations of the heart. The doctor said little, but I discovered his apprehensions in his countenance. The patient appeared particularly restless and uneasy, and the delirium still continued. On quitting the apartment, I earnestly conjured the gentlemen to tell me their opinion of the case. They both expressed an apprehension of internal injury.

'But a short time,' they added, 'would determine it; in the mean while he must be kept perfectly still.'

I turned from them, and walked to the window--I raised my eyes to heaven--I breathed an involuntary ejaculation--I felt that the crisis of my fate was approaching, and I endeavoured to steel my nerves--to prepare my mind for the arduous duties which awaited me.

Mr Lucas approached me, the physician having quitted the room. '_Mrs Montague_,' said he, in an emphatic tone--'in your sympathy for a _stranger_, do not forget other relations.'

'I do not need, sir, to be reminded by you of my duties; were not the sufferings of a fellow being a sufficient claim upon our humanity, this gentleman has _more affecting claims_--I am neither a stranger to him, nor to his virtues.'

'So I perceive, madam,' said he, with an air a little sarcastic, 'I wish, Mr Montague were here to participate your cares.'

'I wish he were, sir, his generous nature would not disallow them.' I spoke haughtily, and abruptly left him.

I took a turn in the garden, endeavouring to compose my spirits, and, after visiting the nursery, returned to the chamber of Mr Harley. I there found Mr Lucas, and in a steady tone, declared my intention of watching his patient through the night.

'As you please, madam,' said he coldly.

I seated myself in an easy chair, reclining my head on my hand. The bed curtains were undrawn on the side next me. Augustus frequently started, as from broken slumbers; his respiration grew, every moment, more difficult and laborious, and, sometimes, he groaned heavily, as if in great pain. Once he suddenly raised himself in the bed, and, gazing wildly round the room, exclaimed in a distinct, but hurried tone--

'Why dost thou persecute me with thy ill-fated tenderness? A fathomless gulf separates us!--Emma!' added he, in a plaintive voice, '_dost thou, indeed, still love me?_' and, heaving a convulsive sigh, sunk again on his pillow.

Mr Lucas, who stood at the feet of the bed, turned his eye on me. I met his glance with the steady aspect of conscious rectitude. About midnight, our patient grew worse, and, after strong agonies, was seized with a vomiting of blood. The fears of the physician were but too well verified, he had again ruptured the blood-vessel, once before broken.

Mr Lucas had but just retired, I ordered him to be instantly recalled, and, stifling every feeling, that might incapacitate me for active exertion, I rendered him all the assistance in my power--I neither trembled, nor shed a tear--I banished the _woman_ from my heart--I acquitted myself with a firmness that would not have disgraced the most experienced, and veteran surgeon. My services were materially useful, my solicitude vanquished every shrinking sensibility, _affection had converted me into a heroine_! The hæmorrhage continued, at intervals, all the next day: I passed once or twice from the chamber to the nursery, and immediately returned. We called in a consultation, but little hope was afforded.

The next night, Mr Lucas and myself continued to watch--towards morning our exhausted patient sunk into an apparently tranquil slumber. Mr Lucas intreated me to retire, and take some repose, on my refusal, he availed himself of the opportunity, and went to his apartment, desiring to be called if any change should take place. The nurse slept soundly in her chair, I alone remained watching--I felt neither fatigue nor languor--my strength seemed preserved as by a miracle, so omnipotent is the operation of moral causes!

Silence reigned throughout the house; I hung over the object of my tender cares--his features were serene--but his cheeks and lips were pale and bloodless. From time to time I took his lifeless hand--a low, fluttering, pulse, sometimes seeming to stop, and then to vibrate with a tremulous motion, but too plainly justified my fears--his breath, though less laborious, was quick and short--a cold dew hung upon his temples--I gently wiped them with my handkerchief, and pressed my lips to his forehead. Yet, at that moment, that solemn moment--while I beheld the object of my virgin affections--whom I had loved with a tenderness, 'passing the love of woman'--expiring before my eyes--I forgot not that I was a wife and a mother.--The purity of my feelings sanctified their enthusiasm!

The day had far advanced, though the house still remained quiet, when Augustus, after a deep drawn sigh, opened his eyes. The loss of blood had calmed the delirium, and though he regarded me attentively, and with evident surprize, the wildness of his eyes and countenance had given place to their accustomed steady expression. He spoke in a faint voice.

'Where am I, how came I here?'

I drew nearer to him--'An unfortunate accident has thrown you into the care of kind friends--you have been very ill--it is not proper that you should exert yourself--rely on those to whom your safety is precious.'

He looked at me as I spoke--his eyes glistened--he breathed a half smothered sigh, but attempted not to reply. He continued to doze at intervals throughout the day, but evidently grew weaker every hour--I quitted him not for a moment, even my nursery was forgotten. I sat, or knelt, at the bed's head, and, between his short and broken slumbers, administered cordial medicines. He seemed to take them with pleasure from my hand, and a mournful tenderness at times beamed in his eyes. I neither spake nor wept--my strength appeared equal to every trial.

In the evening, starting from a troubled sleep, he fell into convulsions--I kept my station--our efforts were successful--he again revived. I supported the pillows on which his head reclined, sprinkled the bed cloaths, and bathed his temples, with hungary water, while I wiped from them the damps of death. A few tears at length forced their way, they fell upon his hand, which rested on the pillow--he kissed them off, and raised to mine his languid eyes, in which death was already painted.

The blood forsaking the extremities, rushed wildly to my heart, a strong palpitation seized it, my fortitude had well nigh forsaken me. But I had been habituated to subdue my feelings, and should I suffer them to disturb the last moments of him, _who had taught me this painful lesson_? He made a sign for a cordial, an attendant offering one--he waved his hand and turned from her his face--I took it--held it to his lips, and he instantly drank it. Another strong emotion shook my nerves--once more I struggled and gained the victory. He spoke in feeble and interrupted periods--kneeling down, scarce daring to breathe, I listened.

'I have a son,' said he,--'I am dying--he will have no longer a parent--transfer to him a portion of--'

'I comprehend you--say no more--_he is mine_--I adopt him--where shall I find--?'

He pointed to his cloaths;--'a pocket book'--said he, in accents still fainter.

'Enough!--I swear, in this awful moment, never to forsake him.'

He raised my hand to his lips--a tender smile illumined his countenance --'Surely,' said he, 'I have sufficiently fulfilled the dictates of a rigid honour!--In these last moments--when every earthly tie is dissolving--when human institutions fade before my sight--I may, without a crime, tell you--_that I have loved you_.--Your tenderness early penetrated my heart--aware of its weakness--I sought to shun you--I imposed on myself those severe laws of which you causelessly complained.--Had my conduct been less rigid, I had been lost--I had been unjust to the bonds which I had voluntarily contracted; and which, therefore, had on me indispensible claims. I acted from good motives, but no doubt, was guilty of some errors--yet, my conflicts were, even, more cruel than yours--I had not only to contend against my own sensibility, but against yours also.--The fire which is pent up burns the fiercest!'--

He ceased to speak--a transient glow, which had lighted up his countenance, faded--exhausted, by the strong effort he had made, he sunk back--his eyes grew dim--they closed--_their last light beamed on me_!--I caught him in my arms--and--_he awoke no more_. The spirits, that had hitherto supported me, suddenly subsided. I uttered a piercing shriek, and sunk upon the body.