The Knight of the Golden Melice Part 41

A silence followed, which was interrupted only by the sobs of Dame Spikeman, until the wounded man inquired:

"How long shall I live?"

"It may be two hours; it may be only one," answered the physician.

"A short time." murmured the a.s.sistant, "My soul doth travail with anguish," he said, fixing his burning eyes on Mr. Eliot.

"O, my brother!" exclaimed the divine, "the precious blood of Christ cleanseth from all sins, though they be as crimson. Faint not now, when thou art about to cross the river of Jordan, but think upon thy Redeemer."

"I strive," said Spikeman, "but there are thoughts which--which rise up, as a mist, between me and him."

"O, cleanse thy bosom of this perilous stuff," said Winthrop. "If there be a sin which persecutes thee, confess it and repent."

"Is that the voice of the Governor?" asked Spikeman, who seemed to have forgotten his entrance. "Repentance! Repentance! it is too late."

Those around the couch looked at one another with dismay.

"Our dear brother," said Mr. Eliot, "of what specially wouldst thou repent? Believe me--it is never too late to trust G.o.d's mercies. Think of the penitent thief upon the Cross."

"Do you dare to call me a thief?" said Spikeman, hoa.r.s.ely. "Ah!" he added, "how I talk! These are strange feelings. What I have to do must be done quickly. Call Eveline Dunning."

"Who is in the room?" he inquired, after the young lady had entered.

The names of those present were enumerated. "Let them remain," he said. "They are of the congregation, but I would not that the world should know my shame. Look not thus at me," he exclaimed, as soon as he saw Eveline. "Thy face is like thy father's, the friend whom I wronged. Be nigh to hear, but let me not see thee. Eveline, the property which should be thine, I have misapplied, and it has melted from my grasp. It was that my misdeed might not be discovered that I denied thee to Miles Arundel, though thy father wished the nuptials.

Yet, Eveline, marry him not; he is of the corrupt Church of England."

These words he uttered with many interruptions of pain, resuming when the paroxysm pa.s.sed away.

"Would you see Miles?" inquired the weeping girl.

"To what end? I care not for him. He is not of the congregation. Go now. I have done."

"My spirit is lightened," he said, as she left the room. "Edmund Dunning," he added, as his mind temporarily wandered, "why do you fasten your accusing eyes on me? I have made all the reparation that I can. What more?"

"Alas!" said Mr. Eliot, aside, to Governor Winthrop, "who would have thought this of one so zealous for our Israel?"

Low as was the tone, the words struck the ear of Spikeman.

"Whatever be my sins," he said, "even though dark as those of David, I have been zealous unto slaying for the people of G.o.d. Is the enemy taken?" he inquired.

"Whom mean you?" asked Winthrop.

"Whom should I mean, but the man ye call the Knight of the Golden Melice?"

"He is not yet taken," answered the Governor.

"Let him be hunted, as a partridge on the mountains; let him be run down and seized; kill him, if he resists."

"This is no fitting frame of mind for a parting spirit," said Mr.

Eliot. "Let me beseech you to turn your thoughts on the Saviour."

But delirium had now taken possession of the mind of the dying man, and made him insensible alike of all that was said and of pain.

"Away with him!" he cried, "who lays snares for the feet of my people.

Hew him down, though he hugged the arms of the altar."

"Shall we not, beloved brother, unite our supplications to the throne of grace, for the last time on earth?" asked Mr. Eliot, bending over him.

"Who shall lay anything to the charge of G.o.d's elect? It is G.o.d who justifies," said Spikeman, turning on the minister his glazing eyes.

"It is in vain," said Winthrop. "He heeds not nor understands what you say."

"Papistical mummeries! Your croziers, your mitres, your mumbled prayers from the ma.s.s-book! I hate them! Forty years long they wandered in the wilderness, but they prevailed at last. Stay ye the hands of our Moses! Be strong! Quit ye like men."

"His mind, even in its wanderings, doth remember Israel," said Dr.

Fuller.

"He hath, indeed," said Winthrop, "ever avouched himself a devoted servant of our cause. Unhappy is it--"

He looked at the weeping wife, and left the sentence unfinished.

"Let him who is without sin cast the first stone," said good Mr.

Eliot.

"Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound!" exclaimed the dying man.

"Dear husband," said Dame Spikeman, sobbing, and taking his hand, "know you me?"

"What woman speaks?" said Spikeman. "It is the voice of Prudence--sweet Pru--"

His wife let the hand fall, and covering her face with her handkerchief, burst into a flood of tears. A severer spasm than any before shook the a.s.sistant's frame; a more copious gush of blood poured from the wound; and in the effort to speak the name of the girl, the spirit pa.s.sed to its account.

"Strange," said pure-minded Mr. Eliot, "that he should utter the name of the serving-maid."

A look of intelligence pa.s.sed between the Governor and the physician, but neither spoke.

"He is silent," said the divine; "he is stiller, and feels less pain."

"He will never feel pain again in this world," said the doctor, approaching the bed, at a little distance from which he had been sitting, and gazing on the corpse.

Dame Spikeman screamed, and was borne, fainting, from the apartment in the arms of Eveline and Prudence, who hastened in at the sound.

"Behold," said Mr. Eliot, who, after the manner of clergymen, was anxious to "improve the solemn occasion," "another warning addressed to us all, to be ready, for we know not neither the day nor the hour.

How suddenly hath our friend been forever removed from the scene of his labors and his hopes. 'As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away, so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more; he shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more.' But, though the spirit be gone, its memory remains behind.

Out of the good and the evil it hath done, shall be erected its monument on earth. O, let us hope that the former, sprinkled and cleansed by the blood that maketh all things pure, may be accepted, and the latter forgiven, for His sake who shed it. For He who made us knoweth whereof we are made; He remembereth that we are dust; He seeth not as man seeth. Only He knows all the secrets of the weak, trembling heart, its temptations, its trials, its struggles, its sorrows, its triumphs, its despairs. Our friend was a captain in Israel. He hath fallen with his armor on, and girded for the battle. He loved the suffering Church. Be that a remembrance to rise like a sweet-smelling incense before the congregation; and if Thou, whose pure eyes cannot behold iniquity, wilt not be extreme to mark what is done amiss, neither may we, the work of thy hands, dare to a.s.sume Thy prerogative; but as the sons of sinning Noah, with averted eyes, covered the nakedness of their father with their garments, so will we hide in forgetfulness each short-coming and each transgression."

As the good man, with a swelling heart and sad eyes, in which glittered the sacred drops of human feeling, uttered these words, he looked like a pitying angel from whose lips reproach could not fall, and whose blessed office was only to instruct and to forgive.