CHAPTER II.
IN the autumn of this year 2096, the spirit of emigration crept in amongthe few survivors, who, congregating from various parts of England, met inLondon. This spirit existed as a breath, a wish, a far off thought, untilcommunicated to Adrian, who imbibed it with ardour, and instantly engagedhimself in plans for its execution. The fear of immediate death vanishedwith the heats of September. Another winter was before us, and we mightelect our mode of passing it to the best advantage. Perhaps in rationalphilosophy none could be better chosen than this scheme of migration, whichwould draw us from the immediate scene of our woe, and, leading us throughpleasant and picturesque countries, amuse for a time our despair. The ideaonce broached, all were impatient to put it in execution.
We were still at Windsor; our renewed hopes medicined the anguish we hadsuffered from the late tragedies. The death of many of our inmates hadweaned us from the fond idea, that Windsor Castle was a spot sacred fromthe plague; but our lease of life was renewed for some months, and evenIdris lifted her head, as a lily after a storm, when a last sunbeam tingesits silver cup. Just at this time Adrian came down to us; his eager looksshewed us that he was full of some scheme. He hastened to take me aside,and disclosed to me with rapidity his plan of emigration from England.
To leave England for ever! to turn from its polluted fields and groves,and, placing the sea between us, to quit it, as a sailor quits the rock onwhich he has been wrecked, when the saving ship rides by. Such was hisplan.
To leave the country of our fathers, made holy by their graves!--We couldnot feel even as a voluntary exile of old, who might for pleasure orconvenience forsake his native soil; though thousands of miles might dividehim, England was still a part of him, as he of her. He heard of the passingevents of the day; he knew that, if he returned, and resumed his place insociety, the entrance was still open, and it required but the will, tosurround himself at once with the associations and habits of boyhood. Notso with us, the remnant. We left none to represent us, none to repeople thedesart land, and the name of England died, when we left her,
In vagabond pursuit of dreadful safety.
Yet let us go! England is in her shroud,--we may not enchain ourselves toa corpse. Let us go--the world is our country now, and we will choose forour residence its most fertile spot. Shall we, in these desart halls, underthis wintry sky, sit with closed eyes and folded hands, expecting death?Let us rather go out to meet it gallantly: or perhaps--for all thispendulous orb, this fair gem in the sky's diadem, is not surelyplague-striken--perhaps, in some secluded nook, amidst eternal spring,and waving trees, and purling streams, we may find Life. The world is vast,and England, though her many fields and wide spread woods seeminterminable, is but a small part of her. At the close of a day's marchover high mountains and through snowy vallies, we may come upon health, andcommitting our loved ones to its charge, replant the uprooted tree ofhumanity, and send to late posterity the tale of the ante-pestilentialrace, the heroes and sages of the lost state of things.
Hope beckons and sorrow urges us, the heart beats high with expectation,and this eager desire of change must be an omen of success. O come!Farewell to the dead! farewell to the tombs of those we loved!--farewellto giant London and the placid Thames, to river and mountain or fairdistrict, birth-place of the wise and good, to Windsor Forest and itsantique castle, farewell! themes for story alone are they,--we must liveelsewhere.
Such were in part the arguments of Adrian, uttered with enthusiasm andunanswerable rapidity. Something more was in his heart, to which he darednot give words. He felt that the end of time was come; he knew that one byone we should dwindle into nothingness. It was not adviseable to wait thissad consummation in our native country; but travelling would give us ourobject for each day, that would distract our thoughts from theswift-approaching end of things. If we went to Italy, to sacred and eternalRome, we might with greater patience submit to the decree, which had laidher mighty towers low. We might lose our selfish grief in the sublimeaspect of its desolation. All this was in the mind of Adrian; but hethought of my children, and, instead of communicating to me these resourcesof despair, he called up the image of health and life to be found, where weknew not--when we knew not; but if never to be found, for ever and forever to be sought. He won me over to his party, heart and soul.
It devolved on me to disclose our plan to Idris. The images of health andhope which I presented to her, made her with a smile consent. With a smileshe agreed to leave her country, from which she had never before beenabsent, and the spot she had inhabited from infancy; the forest and itsmighty trees, the woodland paths and green recesses, where she had playedin childhood, and had lived so happily through youth; she would leave themwithout regret, for she hoped to purchase thus the lives of her children.They were her life; dearer than a spot consecrated to love, dearer than allelse the earth contained. The boys heard with childish glee of our removal:Clara asked if we were to go to Athens. "It is possible," I replied; andher countenance became radiant with pleasure. There she would behold thetomb of her parents, and the territory filled with recollections of herfather's glory. In silence, but without respite, she had brooded over thesescenes. It was the recollection of them that had turned her infant gaietyto seriousness, and had impressed her with high and restless thoughts.
There were many dear friends whom we must not leave behind, humble thoughthey were. There was the spirited and obedient steed which Lord Raymond hadgiven his daughter; there was Alfred's dog and a pet eagle, whose sight wasdimmed through age. But this catalogue of favourites to be taken with us,could not be made without grief to think of our heavy losses, and a deepsigh for the many things we must leave behind. The tears rushed into theeyes of Idris, while Alfred and Evelyn brought now a favourite rose tree,now a marble vase beautifully carved, insisting that these must go, andexclaiming on the pity that we could not take the castle and the forest,the deer and the birds, and all accustomed and cherished objects along withus. "Fond and foolish ones," I said, "we have lost for ever treasures farmore precious than these; and we desert them, to preserve treasures towhich in comparison they are nothing. Let us not for a moment forget ourobject and our hope; and they will form a resistless mound to stop theoverflowing of our regret for trifles."
The children were easily distracted, and again returned to their prospectof future amusement. Idris had disappeared. She had gone to hide herweakness; escaping from the castle, she had descended to the little park,and sought solitude, that she might there indulge her tears; I found herclinging round an old oak, pressing its rough trunk with her roseate lips,as her tears fell plenteously, and her sobs and broken exclamations couldnot be suppressed; with surpassing grief I beheld this loved one of myheart thus lost in sorrow! I drew her towards me; and, as she felt mykisses on her eyelids, as she felt my arms press her, she revived to theknowledge of what remained to her. "You are very kind not to reproach me,"she said: "I weep, and a bitter pang of intolerable sorrow tears my heart.And yet I am happy; mothers lament their children, wives lose theirhusbands, while you and my children are left to me. Yes, I am happy, mosthappy, that I can weep thus for imaginary sorrows, and that the slight lossof my adored country is not dwindled and annihilated in mightier misery.Take me where you will; where you and my children are, there shall beWindsor, and every country will be England to me. Let these tears flow notfor myself, happy and ungrateful as I am, but for the dead world--for ourlost country--for all of love, and life, and joy, now choked in the dustychambers of death."
She spoke quickly, as if to convince herself; she turned her eyes from thetrees and forest-paths she loved; she hid her face in my bosom, and we--yes, my masculine firmness dissolved--we wept together consolatory tears,and then calm--nay, almost cheerful, we returned to the castle.
The first cold weather of an English October, made us hasten ourpreparations. I persuaded Idris to go up to London, where she might betterattend to necessary arrangements. I did not tell her, that to spare her thepang of parting from inani
mate objects, now the only things left, I hadresolved that we should none of us return to Windsor. For the last time welooked on the wide extent of country visible from the terrace, and saw thelast rays of the sun tinge the dark masses of wood variegated by autumnaltints; the uncultivated fields and smokeless cottages lay in shadow below;the Thames wound through the wide plain, and the venerable pile of Etoncollege, stood in dark relief, a prominent object; the cawing of the myriadrooks which inhabited the trees of the little park, as in column or thickwedge they speeded to their nests, disturbed the silence of evening. Naturewas the same, as when she was the kind mother of the human race; now,childless and forlorn, her fertility was a mockery; her loveliness a maskfor deformity. Why should the breeze gently stir the trees, man felt notits refreshment? Why did dark night adorn herself with stars--man sawthem not? Why are there fruits, or flowers, or streams, man is not here toenjoy them?
Idris stood beside me, her dear hand locked in mine. Her face was radiantwith a smile.--"The sun is alone," she said, "but we are not. A strangestar, my Lionel, ruled our birth; sadly and with dismay we may look uponthe annihilation of man; but we remain for each other. Did I ever in thewide world seek other than thee? And since in the wide world thouremainest, why should I complain? Thou and nature are still true to me.Beneath the shades of night, and through the day, whose garish lightdisplays our solitude, thou wilt still be at my side, and even Windsor willnot be regretted."
I had chosen night time for our journey to London, that the change anddesolation of the country might be the less observable. Our only survivingservant drove us. We past down the steep hill, and entered the dusky avenueof the Long Walk. At times like these, minute circumstances assume giantand majestic proportions; the very swinging open of the white gate thatadmitted us into the forest, arrested my thoughts as matter of interest; itwas an every day act, never to occur again! The setting crescent of themoon glittered through the massy trees to our right, and when we enteredthe park, we scared a troop of deer, that fled bounding away in the forestshades. Our two boys quietly slept; once, before our road turned from theview, I looked back on the castle. Its windows glistened in the moonshine,and its heavy outline lay in a dark mass against the sky--the trees nearus waved a solemn dirge to the midnight breeze. Idris leaned back in thecarriage; her two hands pressed mine, her countenance was placid, sheseemed to lose the sense of what she now left, in the memory of what shestill possessed.
My thoughts were sad and solemn, yet not of unmingled pain. The very excessof our misery carried a relief with it, giving sublimity and elevation tosorrow. I felt that I carried with me those I best loved; I was pleased,after a long separation to rejoin Adrian; never again to part. I felt thatI quitted what I loved, not what loved me. The castle walls, and longfamiliar trees, did not hear the parting sound of our carriage-wheels withregret. And, while I felt Idris to be near, and heard the regular breathingof my children, I could not be unhappy. Clara was greatly moved; withstreaming eyes, suppressing her sobs, she leaned from the window, watchingthe last glimpse of her native Windsor.
Adrian welcomed us on our arrival. He was all animation; you could nolonger trace in his look of health, the suffering valetudinarian; from hissmile and sprightly tones you could not guess that he was about to leadforth from their native country, the numbered remnant of the Englishnation, into the tenantless realms of the south, there to die, one by one,till the LAST MAN should remain in a voiceless, empty world.
Adrian was impatient for our departure, and had advanced far in hispreparations. His wisdom guided all. His care was the soul, to move theluckless crowd, who relied wholly on him. It was useless to provide manythings, for we should find abundant provision in every town. It wasAdrian's wish to prevent all labour; to bestow a festive appearance on thisfuneral train. Our numbers amounted to not quite two thousand persons.These were not all assembled in London, but each day witnessed the arrivalof fresh numbers, and those who resided in the neighbouring towns, hadreceived orders to assemble at one place, on the twentieth of November.Carriages and horses were provided for all; captains and under officerschosen, and the whole assemblage wisely organized. All obeyed the LordProtector of dying England; all looked up to him. His council was chosen,it consisted of about fifty persons. Distinction and station were not thequalifications of their election. We had no station among us, but thatwhich benevolence and prudence gave; no distinction save between the livingand the dead. Although we were anxious to leave England before the depth ofwinter, yet we were detained. Small parties had been dispatched to variousparts of England, in search of stragglers; we would not go, until we hadassured ourselves that in all human probability we did not leave behind asingle human being.
On our arrival in London, we found that the aged Countess of Windsor wasresiding with her son in the palace of the Protectorate; we repaired to ouraccustomed abode near Hyde Park. Idris now for the first time for manyyears saw her mother, anxious to assure herself that the childishness ofold age did not mingle with unforgotten pride, to make this high-born damestill so inveterate against me. Age and care had furrowed her cheeks, andbent her form; but her eye was still bright, her manners authoritative andunchanged; she received her daughter coldly, but displayed more feeling asshe folded her grand-children in her arms. It is our nature to wish tocontinue our systems and thoughts to posterity through our own offspring.The Countess had failed in this design with regard to her children; perhapsshe hoped to find the next remove in birth more tractable. Once Idris namedme casually--a frown, a convulsive gesture of anger, shook her mother,and, with voice trembling with hate, she said--"I am of little worth inthis world; the young are impatient to push the old off the scene; but,Idris, if you do not wish to see your mother expire at your feet, neveragain name that person to me; all else I can bear; and now I am resigned tothe destruction of my cherished hopes: but it is too much to require that Ishould love the instrument that providence gifted with murderous propertiesfor my destruction."
This was a strange speech, now that, on the empty stage, each might playhis part without impediment from the other. But the haughty Ex-Queenthought as Octavius Caesar and Mark Antony,
We could not stall together In the whole world.
The period of our departure was fixed for the twenty-fifth of November. Theweather was temperate; soft rains fell at night, and by day the wintry sunshone out. Our numbers were to move forward in separate parties, and to goby different routes, all to unite at last at Paris. Adrian and hisdivision, consisting in all of five hundred persons, were to take thedirection of Dover and Calais. On the twentieth of November, Adrian and Irode for the last time through the streets of London. They were grass-grownand desert. The open doors of the empty mansions creaked upon their hinges;rank herbage, and deforming dirt, had swiftly accumulated on the steps ofthe houses; the voiceless steeples of the churches pierced the smokelessair; the churches were open, but no prayer was offered at the altars;mildew and damp had already defaced their ornaments; birds, and tameanimals, now homeless, had built nests, and made their lairs in consecratedspots. We passed St. Paul's. London, which had extended so far in suburbsin all direction, had been somewhat deserted in the midst, and much of whathad in former days obscured this vast building was removed. Its ponderousmass, blackened stone, and high dome, made it look, not like a temple, buta tomb. Methought above the portico was engraved the Hic jacet of England.We passed on eastwards, engaged in such solemn talk as the times inspired.No human step was heard, nor human form discerned. Troops of dogs, desertedof their masters, passed us; and now and then a horse, unbridled andunsaddled, trotted towards us, and tried to attract the attention of thosewhich we rode, as if to allure them to seek like liberty. An unwieldy ox,who had fed in an abandoned granary, suddenly lowed, and shewed hisshapeless form in a narrow door-way; every thing was desert; but nothingwas in ruin. And this medley of undamaged buildings, and luxuriousaccommodation, in trim and fresh youth, was contrasted with the lonelysilence of the unpeopled streets.
Ni
ght closed in, and it began to rain. We were about to return homewards,when a voice, a human voice, strange now to hear, attracted our attention.It was a child singing a merry, lightsome air; there was no other sound. Wehad traversed London from Hyde Park even to where we now were in theMinories, and had met no person, heard no voice nor footstep. The singingwas interrupted by laughing and talking; never was merry ditty so sadlytimed, never laughter more akin to tears. The door of the house from whichthese sounds proceeded was open, the upper rooms were illuminated as for afeast. It was a large magnificent house, in which doubtless some richmerchant had lived. The singing again commenced, and rang through thehigh-roofed rooms, while we silently ascended the stair-case. Lights nowappeared to guide us; and a long suite of splendid rooms illuminated, madeus still more wonder. Their only inhabitant, a little girl, was dancing,waltzing, and singing about them, followed by a large Newfoundland dog, whoboisterously jumping on her, and interrupting her, made her now scold, nowlaugh, now throw herself on the carpet to play with him. She was dressedgrotesquely, in glittering robes and shawls fit for a woman; she appearedabout ten years of age. We stood at the door looking on this strange scene,till the dog perceiving us barked loudly; the child turned and saw us: herface, losing its gaiety, assumed a sullen expression: she slunk back,apparently meditating an escape. I came up to her, and held her hand; shedid not resist, but with a stern brow, so strange in childhood, sodifferent from her former hilarity, she stood still, her eyes fixed on theground. "What do you do here?" I said gently; "Who are you?"--she wassilent, but trembled violently.--"My poor child," asked Adrian, "are youalone?" There was a winning softness in his voice, that went to the heartof the little girl; she looked at him, then snatching her hand from me,threw herself into his arms, clinging round his neck, ejaculating--"Saveme! save me!" while her unnatural sullenness dissolved in tears.
"I will save you," he replied, "of what are you afraid? you need not fearmy friend, he will do you no harm. Are you alone?"
"No, Lion is with me."
"And your father and mother?--"
"I never had any; I am a charity girl. Every body is gone, gone for agreat, great many days; but if they come back and find me out, they willbeat me so!"
Her unhappy story was told in these few words: an orphan, taken onpretended charity, ill-treated and reviled, her oppressors had died:unknowing of what had passed around her, she found herself alone; she hadnot dared venture out, but by the continuance of her solitude her couragerevived, her childish vivacity caused her to play a thousand freaks, andwith her brute companion she passed a long holiday, fearing nothing but thereturn of the harsh voices and cruel usage of her protectors. She readilyconsented to go with Adrian.
In the mean time, while we descanted on alien sorrows, and on a solitudewhich struck our eyes and not our hearts, while we imagined all of changeand suffering that had intervened in these once thronged streets, before,tenantless and abandoned, they became mere kennels for dogs, and stablesfor cattle:--while we read the death of the world upon the dark fane, andhugged ourselves in the remembrance that we possessed that which was allthe world to us--in the meanwhile---
We had arrived from Windsor early in October, and had now been in Londonabout six weeks. Day by day, during that time, the health of my Idrisdeclined: her heart was broken; neither sleep nor appetite, the chosenservants of health, waited on her wasted form. To watch her children hourby hour, to sit by me, drinking deep the dear persuasion that I remained toher, was all her pastime. Her vivacity, so long assumed, her affectionatedisplay of cheerfulness, her light-hearted tone and springy gait were gone.I could not disguise to myself, nor could she conceal, her life-consumingsorrow. Still change of scene, and reviving hopes might restore her; Ifeared the plague only, and she was untouched by that.
I had left her this evening, reposing after the fatigues of herpreparations. Clara sat beside her, relating a story to the two boys. Theeyes of Idris were closed: but Clara perceived a sudden change in theappearance of our eldest darling; his heavy lids veiled his eyes, anunnatural colour burnt in his cheeks, his breath became short. Clara lookedat the mother; she slept, yet started at the pause the narrator made--Fear of awakening and alarming her, caused Clara to go on at the eager callof Evelyn, who was unaware of what was passing. Her eyes turned alternatelyfrom Alfred to Idris; with trembling accents she continued her tale, tillshe saw the child about to fall: starting forward she caught him, and hercry roused Idris. She looked on her son. She saw death stealing across hisfeatures; she laid him on a bed, she held drink to his parched lips.
Yet he might be saved. If I were there, he might be saved; perhaps it wasnot the plague. Without a counsellor, what could she do? stay and beholdhim die! Why at that moment was I away? "Look to him, Clara," sheexclaimed, "I will return immediately."
She inquired among those who, selected as the companions of our journey,had taken up their residence in our house; she heard from them merely thatI had gone out with Adrian. She entreated them to seek me: she returned toher child, he was plunged in a frightful state of torpor; again she rusheddown stairs; all was dark, desert, and silent; she lost allself-possession; she ran into the street; she called on my name. Thepattering rain and howling wind alone replied to her. Wild fear gave wingsto her feet; she darted forward to seek me, she knew not where; but,putting all her thoughts, all her energy, all her being in speed only, mostmisdirected speed, she neither felt, nor feared, nor paused, but ran righton, till her strength suddenly deserted her so suddenly, that she had notthought to save herself. Her knees failed her, and she fell heavily on thepavement. She was stunned for a time; but at length rose, and though sorelyhurt, still walked on, shedding a fountain of tears, stumbling at times,going she knew not whither, only now and then with feeble voice she calledmy name, adding with heart-piercing exclamations, that I was cruel andunkind. Human being there was none to reply; and the inclemency of thenight had driven the wandering animals to the habitations they had usurped.Her thin dress was drenched with rain; her wet hair clung round her neck;she tottered through the dark streets; till, striking her foot against anunseen impediment, she again fell; she could not rise; she hardly strove;but, gathering up her limbs, she resigned herself to the fury of theelements, and the bitter grief of her own heart. She breathed an earnestprayer to die speedily, for there was no relief but death. While hopelessof safety for herself, she ceased to lament for her dying child, but shedkindly, bitter tears for the grief I should experience in losing her. Whileshe lay, life almost suspended, she felt a warm, soft hand on her brow, anda gentle female voice asked her, with expressions of tender compassion, ifshe could not rise? That another human being, sympathetic and kind, shouldexist near, roused her; half rising, with clasped hands, and freshspringing tears, she entreated her companion to seek for me, to bid mehasten to my dying child, to save him, for the love of heaven, to savehim!
The woman raised her; she led her under shelter, she entreated her toreturn to her home, whither perhaps I had already returned. Idris easilyyielded to her persuasions, she leaned on the arm of her friend, sheendeavoured to walk on, but irresistible faintness made her pause again andagain.
Quickened by the encreasing storm, we had hastened our return, our littlecharge was placed before Adrian on his horse. There was an assemblage ofpersons under the portico of our house, in whose gestures I instinctivelyread some heavy change, some new misfortune. With swift alarm, afraid toask a single question, I leapt from my horse; the spectators saw me, knewme, and in awful silence divided to make way for me. I snatched a light,and rushing up stairs, and hearing a groan, without reflection I threw openthe door of the first room that presented itself. It was quite dark; but,as I stept within, a pernicious scent assailed my senses, producingsickening qualms, which made their way to my very heart, while I felt myleg clasped, and a groan repeated by the person that held me. I lowered mylamp, and saw a negro half clad, writhing under the agony of disease, whilehe held me with a convulsive grasp. With mixed horror and impatience Ist
rove to disengage myself, and fell on the sufferer; he wound his nakedfestering arms round me, his face was close to mine, and his breath,death-laden, entered my vitals. For a moment I was overcome, my head wasbowed by aching nausea; till, reflection returning, I sprung up, threw thewretch from me, and darting up the staircase, entered the chamber usuallyinhabited by my family. A dim light shewed me Alfred on a couch; Claratrembling, and paler than whitest snow, had raised him on her arm, holdinga cup of water to his lips. I saw full well that no spark of life existedin that ruined form, his features were rigid, his eyes glazed, his head hadfallen back. I took him from her, I laid him softly down, kissed his coldlittle mouth, and turned to speak in a vain whisper, when loudest sound ofthunderlike cannon could not have reached him in his immaterial abode.
And where was Idris? That she had gone out to seek me, and had notreturned, were fearful tidings, while the rain and driving wind clatteredagainst the window, and roared round the house. Added to this, thesickening sensation of disease gained upon me; no time was to be lost, ifever I would see her again. I mounted my horse and rode out to seek her,fancying that I heard her voice in every gust, oppressed by fever andaching pain.
I rode in the dark and rain through the labyrinthine streets of unpeopledLondon. My child lay dead at home; the seeds of mortal disease had takenroot in my bosom; I went to seek Idris, my adored, now wandering alone,while the waters were rushing from heaven like a cataract to bathe her dearhead in chill damp, her fair limbs in numbing cold. A female stood on thestep of a door, and called to me as I gallopped past. It was not Idris; soI rode swiftly on, until a kind of second sight, a reflection back again onmy senses of what I had seen but not marked, made me feel sure that anotherfigure, thin, graceful and tall, stood clinging to the foremost person whosupported her. In a minute I was beside the suppliant, in a minute Ireceived the sinking Idris in my arms. Lifting her up, I placed her on thehorse; she had not strength to support herself; so I mountedbehind her, and held her close to my bosom, wrapping my riding-cloak roundher, while her companion, whose well known, but changed countenance, (itwas Juliet, daughter of the Duke of L---) could at this moment of horrorobtain from me no more than a passing glance of compassion. She took theabandoned rein, and conducted our obedient steed homewards. Dare I avouchit? That was the last moment of my happiness; but I was happy. Idris mustdie, for her heart was broken: I must die, for I had caught the plague;earth was a scene of desolation; hope was madness; life had married death;they were one; but, thus supporting my fainting love, thus feeling that Imust soon die, I revelled in the delight of possessing her once more; againand again I kissed her, and pressed her to my heart.
We arrived at our home. I assisted her to dismount, I carried her upstairs, and gave her into Clara's care, that her wet garments might bechanged. Briefly I assured Adrian of her safety, and requested that wemight be left to repose. As the miser, who with trembling caution visitshis treasure to count it again and again, so I numbered each moment, andgrudged every one that was not spent with Idris. I returned swiftly to thechamber where the life of my life reposed; before I entered the room Ipaused for a few seconds; for a few seconds I tried to examine my state;sickness and shuddering ever and anon came over me; my head was heavy, mychest oppressed, my legs bent under me; but I threw off resolutely theswift growing symptoms of my disorder, and met Idris with placid and evenjoyous looks. She was lying on a couch; carefully fastening the door toprevent all intrusion; I sat by her, we embraced, and our lips met in akiss long drawn and breathless--would that moment had been my last!
Maternal feeling now awoke in my poor girl's bosom, and she asked: "AndAlfred?"
"Idris," I replied, "we are spared to each other, we are together;do not let any other idea intrude. I am happy; even on this fatal night, Ideclare myself happy, beyond all name, all thought--what would you more,sweet one?"
Idris understood me: she bowed her head on my shoulder and wept. "Why," sheagain asked, "do you tremble, Lionel, what shakes you thus?"
"Well may I be shaken," I replied, "happy as I am. Our child is dead, andthe present hour is dark and ominous. Well may I tremble! but, I am happy,mine own Idris, most happy."
"I understand thee, my kind love," said Idris, "thus--pale as thou artwith sorrow at our loss; trembling and aghast, though wouldest assuage mygrief by thy dear assurances. I am not happy," (and the tears flashed andfell from under her down-cast lids), "for we are inmates of a miserableprison, and there is no joy for us; but the true love I bear you willrender this and every other loss endurable."
"We have been happy together, at least," I said; "no future misery candeprive us of the past. We have been true to each other for years, eversince my sweet princess-love came through the snow to the lowly cottageof the poverty-striken heir of the ruined Verney. Even now, that eternityis before us, we take hope only from the presence of each other. Idris,do you think, that when we die, we shall be divided?"
"Die! when we die! what mean you? What secret lies hid from me in thosedreadful words?"
"Must we not all die, dearest?" I asked with a sad smile.
"Gracious God! are you ill, Lionel, that you speak of death? My onlyfriend, heart of my heart, speak!"
"I do not think," replied I, "that we have any of us long to live; and whenthe curtain drops on this mortal scene, where, think you, we shall findourselves?" Idris was calmed by my unembarrassed tone and look; sheanswered:--"You may easily believe that during this long progress of theplague, I have thought much on death, and asked myself, now that allmankind is dead to this life, to what other life they may have been borne.Hour after hour, I have dwelt on these thoughts, and strove to form arational conclusion concerning the mystery of a future state. What ascare-crow, indeed, would death be, if we were merely to cast aside theshadow in which we now walk, and, stepping forth into the uncloudedsunshine of knowledge and love, revived with the same companions, the sameaffections, and reached the fulfilment of our hopes, leaving our fears withour earthly vesture in the grave. Alas! the same strong feeling which makesme sure that I shall not wholly die, makes me refuse to believe that Ishall live wholly as I do now. Yet, Lionel, never, never, can I love anybut you; through eternity I must desire your society; and, as I am innocentof harm to others, and as relying and confident as my mortal naturepermits, I trust that the Ruler of the world will never tear us asunder."
"Your remarks are like yourself, dear love," replied I, "gentle and good;let us cherish such a belief, and dismiss anxiety from our minds. But,sweet, we are so formed, (and there is no sin, if God made our nature, toyield to what he ordains), we are so formed, that we must love life, andcling to it; we must love the living smile, the sympathetic touch, andthrilling voice, peculiar to our mortal mechanism. Let us not, throughsecurity in hereafter, neglect the present. This present moment, short asit is, is a part of eternity, and the dearest part, since it is our ownunalienably. Thou, the hope of my futurity, art my present joy. Let me thenlook on thy dear eyes, and, reading love in them, drink intoxicatingpleasure."
Timidly, for my vehemence somewhat terrified her, Idris looked on me. Myeyes were bloodshot, starting from my head; every artery beat, methought,audibly, every muscle throbbed, each single nerve felt. Her look of wildaffright told me, that I could no longer keep my secret:--"So it is, mineown beloved," I said, "the last hour of many happy ones is arrived, nor canwe shun any longer the inevitable destiny. I cannot live long--but, againand again, I say, this moment is ours!"
Paler than marble, with white lips and convulsed features, Idris becameaware of my situation. My arm, as I sat, encircled her waist. She felt thepalm burn with fever, even on the heart it pressed:--"One moment," shemurmured, scarce audibly, "only one moment."--
She kneeled, and hiding her face in her hands, uttered a brief, but earnestprayer, that she might fulfil her duty, and watch over me to the last.While there was hope, the agony had been unendurable;--all was nowconcluded; her feelings became solemn and calm. Even as Epicharis,unperturbed and firm, submitted to
the instruments of torture, did Idris,suppressing every sigh and sign of grief, enter upon the endurance oftorments, of which the rack and the wheel are but faint and metaphysicalsymbols.
I was changed; the tight-drawn cord that sounded so harshly was loosened,the moment that Idris participated in my knowledge of our real situation.The perturbed and passion-tossed waves of thought subsided, leaving onlythe heavy swell that kept right on without any outward manifestation of itsdisturbance, till it should break on the remote shore towards which Irapidly advanced:--"It is true that I am sick," I said, "and yoursociety, my Idris is my only medicine; come, and sit beside me."
She made me lie down on the couch, and, drawing a low ottoman near, satclose to my pillow, pressing my burning hands in her cold palms. Sheyielded to my feverish restlessness, and let me talk, and talked to me, onsubjects strange indeed to beings, who thus looked the last, and heard thelast, of what they loved alone in the world. We talked of times gone by; ofthe happy period of our early love; of Raymond, Perdita, and Evadne. Wetalked of what might arise on this desert earth, if, two or three beingsaved, it were slowly re-peopled.--We talked of what was beyond the tomb;and, man in his human shape being nearly extinct, we felt with certainty offaith, that other spirits, other minds, other perceptive beings, sightlessto us, must people with thought and love this beauteous and imperishableuniverse.
We talked--I know not how long--but, in the morning I awoke from apainful heavy slumber; the pale cheek of Idris rested on my pillow; thelarge orbs of her eyes half raised the lids, and shewed the deep bluelights beneath; her lips were unclosed, and the slight murmurs they formedtold that, even while asleep, she suffered. "If she were dead," I thought,"what difference? now that form is the temple of a residing deity; thoseeyes are the windows of her soul; all grace, love, and intelligence arethroned on that lovely bosom--were she dead, where would this mind, thedearer half of mine, be? For quickly the fair proportion of this edificewould be more defaced, than are the sand-choked ruins of the desert templesof Palmyra."