St. Elmo Part 74

Her mournful eyes, strained wide and full of tears, followed him till his form was no longer visible; and sinking down on the monument--whence she had risen at his approach--she shrouded her fair, delicate features, and rocked herself to and fro.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

"How lovely! Oh! I did not think there was any place half so beautiful this side of heaven!"

With his head on his mother's bosom, Felix lay near the window of an upper room, looking out over the Gulf of Genoa.

The crescent curve of the olive-mantled Apennines girdled the city in a rocky clasp, and mellowed by distance and the magic enamelling of evening light, each particular peak rose against the chrysoprase sky like a pyramid of lapis lazuli, around whose mighty base rolled soft waves of golden haze.

Over the gla.s.sy bosom of the gulf, where glided boats filled with gay, pleasure-seeking Italians, floated the merry strains of a barcarole, with the silvery echo of "Fidulin" keeping time with the silvery gleam of the dipping oars.

"And the sun went into the west, and down Upon the water stooped an orange cloud, And the pale milky reaches flushed, as glad To wear its colors; and the sultry air Went out to sea, and puffed the sails of s.h.i.+ps With thymy wafts, the breath of trodden gra.s.s."

"Lift me up, mamma! higher, higher yet. I want to see the sun.

There! it has gone--gone down into the sea. I can't bear to see it set to-day. It seemed to say good-bye to me just then. Oh, mamma, mamma! I don't want to die. The world is so beautiful, and life is so sweet up here in the suns.h.i.+ne and the starlight, and it is so cold and dark down there in the grave. Oh! where is Edna? Tell her to come quick and sing something to me."

The cripple shuddered and shut his eyes. He had wasted away, until he looked a mere shadow of humanity, and his governess stooped and took him from his mother's arms as if he were a baby.

"Edna, talk to me! Oh! don't let me get afraid to die. I--"

She laid her lips on his, and the touch calmed their s.h.i.+vering; and, after a moment, she began to repeat the apocalyptic vision of heaven:

"And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord G.o.d giveth them light; and they shall reign for ever and ever."

"But, Edna, the light does not s.h.i.+ne down there in the grave. If you could go with me--"

"A better and kinder Friend will go with you, dear Felix."

She sang with strange pathos "Motet," that beautiful arrangement of "The Lord is my Shepherd."

As she reached that part where the words, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," are repeated, the weak, quavering voice of the sick boy joined hers; and, when she ceased, the emaciated face was placid, the great dread had pa.s.sed away for ever.

Anxious to divert his thoughts, she put into his hand a bunch of orange flowers and violets, which had been sent to her that day by Mr. Manning; and taking a book from the bed, she resumed the reading of "The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain," to which the invalid had never wearied of listening.

But she soon saw that for once he was indifferent; and, understanding the expression of the eyes that gazed out on the purple shadows shrouding the Apennines, she closed the volume, and laid the sufferer back on his pillow.

While she was standing before a table, preparing some nourishment to be given to him during the night, Mrs. Andrews came close to her and whispered:

"Do you see much change? Is he really worse, or do my fears magnify every bad symptom?"

"He is much exhausted, but I trust the stimulants will revive him.

You must go to bed early, and get a good sound sleep, for you look worn out. I will wake you if I see any decided change in him."

Mrs. Andrews hung for some time over her child's pillow, caressing him, saying tender, soothing, motherly things; and, after a while, she and Hattie kissed him, and went into the adjoining room, leaving him to the care of one whom he loved better than all the world beside.

It was late at night before the sound of laughter, song and chatter died away in the streets of Genoa the magnificent. While the human tide ebbed and flowed under the windows, Felix was restless, and his companion tried to interest him by telling him the history of the Dorias, and of the siege during which Ma.s.sena won such glory. Her conversation drifted away, even to Ancona, and that sad, but touching incident, which Sismondi records, of the n.o.ble, patriotic young mother, who gave to a starving soldier the milk that her half- famished babe required, and sent him, thus refreshed and strengthened, to defend the walls of her beleaguered city.

The boy's fondness for history showed itself even then, and he listened attentively to her words.

At length silence reigned through the marble palaces, and Edna rose to place the small lamp in an alabaster vase.

As she did so, something flew into her face, and fluttered to the edge of the vase, and as she attempted to brush it off, she started back, smothering a cry of horror. It was the Sphinx Atropos, the Death's Head Moth; and there, upon its breast, appallingly distinct, grinned the ghastly, gray human skull. Twice it circled rapidly round the vase, uttering strange, stridulous sounds, then floated up to the canopy overarching Felix's bed, and poised itself on the carved frame, waiting and flapping its wings, vulture-like.

Shuddering from head to foot, notwithstanding the protest which reason offered against superst.i.tion, the governess sat down to watch the boy's slumber.

His eyes were closed, and she hoped that he slept; but presently he feebly put out his skeleton hand and took hers.

"Edna, mamma cannot hear me, can she?"

"She is asleep, but I will wake her if you wish it."

"No, she would only begin to cry, and that would worry me. Edna, I want you to promise me one thing--" He paused a few seconds and sighed wearily.

"When you all go back home, don't leave me here; take me with you, and lay my poor little deformed body in the ground at 'The Willows,'

where the sea will sing over me. We were so happy there! I always thought I should like my grave to be under the tallest willow, where our canary's cage used to hang. Edna, I don't think you will live long--I almost hope you won't--and I want you to promise me, too, that you will tell them to bury us close together; so that the very moment I rise out of my grave, on the day of judgment, I will see your face! Sometimes, when I think of the millions and millions that will be pressing up for their trial before G.o.d's throne, on that great, awful day, I am afraid I might lose or miss you in the crowd, and never find you again; but, you know, if our coffins touch, you can stretch out your hand to me as you rise, and we can go together.

Oh! I want your face to be the last I see here, and the first-- yonder."

He raised his fingers slowly, and they fell back wearily on the coverlet.

"Don't talk so, Felix. Oh, my darling' G.o.d will not take you away from me. Try to sleep, shut your eyes; you need rest to compose you."

She knelt down, kissed him repeatedly, and laid her face close to his on the pillow; and he tried to turn and put his emaciated arm around her neck.

"Edna, I have been a trouble to you for a long time, but you will miss me when I am gone, and you will have nothing to love. If you live long, marry Mr. Manning, and let him take care of you. Don't work so hard, dear Edna; only rest, and let him make you happy.

Before I knew you I was always wis.h.i.+ng to die; but now I hate to leave you all alone, my own dear, pale Edna."

"Oh, Felix, darling! hus.h.!.+ Go to sleep. You wring my heart!"

Her sobs distressed him, and, feebly patting her cheek, he said:

"Perhaps if you will sing me something low, I may go to sleep, and I want to hear your voice once more. Sing me that song about the child and the rose-bush, that Hattie likes so much."

"Not that! anything but that! It is too sad, my precious little darling."

"But I want to hear it; please, Edna."

It was a painful task that he imposed, but his wishes ruled her; and she tried to steady her voice as she sang, in a very low, faltering tone, the beautiful, but melancholy ballad. Tears rolled over her face as she chanted the verses; and when she concluded, he repeated very faintly:

"Sweetly it rests, and on dream-wings flies, To play with the angels in paradise!"

He nestled his lips to hers, and, after a little while, murmured:

"Good-night, Edna!"

"Good-night, my darling!"