A Rent In A Cloud Part 24

He thought he could measure the agitation that distressed him by this disturbance of the brain, and he bathed his temples with cold water, and sat down at the open window to try to regain calm and self-possession.

For a while the speculation on this strange problem occupied him, and he wandered on in thought to ask himself which of the events of life should be a.s.sumed as real, and which mere self delusions. "If, for instance,"

thought he, "I could believe that this dreadful scene with Florence never occurred, that it was a mere vision conjured up by my own gloomy forebodings, and my sorrow at our approaching separation--what ecstasy would be mine. What is there," asked he of himself aloud, "to show or prove that we have parted? What evidence have I of one word that may or may not have pa.s.sed between us, that would not apply to that wild scream that so lately chilled my very blood, and which I now know was a mere trick of imagination?" As he spoke, he turned to the table, and there lay the proof that he challenged before him. There, beside his half-written letter, stood the ring he had given her, and which she had just given back to him. The revulsion was very painful, and the tears, which had not come before, now rolled heavily down his cheeks. He took up the ring and raised it to his lips, but laid it down without kissing it These sent-back gifts are very sad things; they do not bury the memory of the loved one who wore them. Like the flower that fell from her hair, they bear other memories. They tell of blighted hopes, of broken vows, of a whole life's plan torn, scattered, and given to the winds. Their odour is not of love; they smell of the rank grave, whither our hearts are hastening. He sat gazing moodily at this ring--it was the story of his life. He remembered the hour and the place he gave it to her; the words he spoke, her blush, her trembling hand as he drew it on her finger, the pledge he uttered, and which he made her repeat to him again. He started. What was that noise? Was that his name he heard uttered? Yes, someone was calling him. He hastened to the door, and opened it, and there stood Emily. She was leaning against the architrave, like one unable for further effort; her face bloodless, and her hair in disorder. She staggered forward, and fell upon his shoulder.

"What is it, Milly, my own dear sister?" cried he; "what is the matter?"

"Oh, Joseph," cried she, in a voice of anguish, "what have you done? I could never have believed this of _you_!"

"What do you mean--what is it you charge me with?"

"_You_, who knew how she loved you--how her whole heart was your own!"

"But what do you impute to me, Milly dearest?"

"How cruel! How cruel!" cried she, wringing her hands.

"I swear to you I do not know of what you accuse me."

"You have broken her heart," cried she vehemently. "She will not survive this cruel desertion."

"But who accuses me of this?" asked he, indignantly.

"She, herself, does--she did, at least, so long as reason remained to her; but now, poor darling, her mind is wandering, and she is not conscious of what she says, and yet her cry is, 'Oh, Joseph, do not leave me.' Go to him, Milly; on your knees beseech him not to desert me.

That I am in fault I know, but I will never again offend him.' I cannot, I will not, tell you all the dreadful--all the humiliating things she says; but through all we can read the terrible trials she must have sustained at your hands, and how severely you have used her. Come to her, at least," cried she, taking his arm. "I do not ask or want to know what has led to this sad scene between you; but come to her before it be too late."

"Let me first of all tell you, Milly---" He stopped. He meant to have revealed the truth; but it seemed so ungenerous to be the accuser, that he stopped, and was silent.

"I don't care to hear anything. You may be as blameless as you like.

What I want is to save her. Come at once."

Without a word he followed her down the stairs, and across the hall, and up another small stair. "Wait a moment," said she, opening the door, and then as quickly she turned and beckoned him to enter.

Still dressed, but with her hair falling loose about her, and her dress disordered, Florence lay on her bed as in a trance--so light her breathing you could see no motion of the chest Her eyes were partly opened, and lips parted: but even these gave to her face a greater look of death.

"She is sleeping at last," whispered Miss Grainger. "She has not spoken since you were here."

Loyd knelt down; beside: the bed, and pressed his cheek against her cold hand; and the day dawn, as it streamed in between the shutters, saw him still there.

CHAPTER XVII. PARTING SORROWS.

HOUR after hour Loyd knelt beside the bed where Florence lay, motionless and unconscious. Her aunt and sister glided noiselessly about, pa.s.sed in and out of the room, rarely speaking, and then but in a whisper. At last a servant whispered in Loyd's ear a message. He started and said, "Yes, let him wait;" and then, in a moment after, added, "No, say no. I'll not want the boat--the luggage may be taken back to my room."

It was a few minutes after this that Emily came behind him, and, bending down so as to speak in his ear, said, "How I thank you, my dear brother, for this! I know the price of your devotion--none of us will ever forget it."

He made no answer, but pressed the cold damp hand he held to his lips.

"Does he know that it is nigh seven o'clock, Milly, and that he must be at Como a quarter before eight, or he'll lose the train?" said Miss Grainger to her niece.

"He knows it all, aunt; he has sent away the boat; he will not desert us."

"Remember, child, what it is he is sacrificing. It may chance to be his whole future fortune."

"He'll stay, let it cost what it may," said Emily.

"I declare I think I will speak to him. It is my duty to speak to him,"

said the old lady, in her own fussy, officious tone. "I will not expose myself to the reproaches of his family--very just reproaches, too, if they imagined we had detained him. He will lose, not only his pa.s.sage out to India, but, not impossibly, his appointment too.

"Joseph, Joseph, I have a word to say to you."

"Dearest aunt, I implore you not to say it," cried Emily.

"Nonsense, child. Is it for a mere tiff and a fit of hysterics a man is to lose his livelihood? Joseph Loyd, come into the next room for a moment."

"I cannot leave this," said he, in a low, faint voice: "say what you have to say to me here."

"It is on the stroke of seven."

He nodded.

"The train leaves a quarter before eight, and if you don't start by this one you can't reach Leghorn by Tuesday."

"I know it; I'm not going."

"Do you mean to give up your appointment?" asked she, in a voice of almost scornful reproach.

"I mean, that I'll not go."

"What will your friends say to this?" said she, angrily.

"I have not thought, nor can I think, of that now: my place is here."

"Then I must protest; and I beg you to remember that I have protested against this resolve on your part. Your family are not to say, hereafter, that it was through any interference or influence of ours that you took this unhappy determination. I'll write, this very day, to your father and say so. There, it is striking seven now!"

He made no reply; indeed, it seemed as if he had not heard her.

"You might still be in time, if you were to exert yourself." whispered she, with more earnestness.

"I tell you again," said he, raising his voice to a louder pitch, "that my place is here, and I will not leave her."

A low, faint sigh was breathed by the sick girl, and gently moving her hand, she laid it on his head.

"You know me then, dearest?" whispered he. "You know who it is kneels beside you?"

She made no answer, but her feeble fingers tried to play with his hair, and strayed, unguided, over his head.

What shape of reproach, remonstrance, or protest, Miss Grainger's mutterings took, is not recorded; but she bustled out of the room, evidently displeased with all in it.