“Miss Louisa has been brought back to life, ma’am,” said the man eagerly; but even such good tidings fell dulled on the ear of Clemence Effingham,—it seemed as if at that moment she could think of no one but her uncle.
“Take her and your young master home at once,” was all that she could say, as she hurried on, absorbed in anxiety so agonizing that the peril of Louisa was half forgotten.
The servant touched his hat, and proceeded to obey; but nothing would induce Vincent to return to his home while the fate of his preserver hung in the balance. Louisa was conveyed to Belgrave Square in a cab; but wet and half frozen as he was, the boy clung to the side of his step-mother.
“They will restore him!—the warmth will restore him!—he will—oh! he must!—he shall recover!” cried Vincent in an agony of grief.
“Every means will be tried,” said Clemence faintly; “we, Vincent,—we can do nothing now but pray!”
Every means was indeed tried, every resource of science was exhausted, but the vital spark had fled, and all was in vain! The pulse had entirely ceased to beat,—not the faintest breath stirred the lungs—the brave heart was stilled for ever! The death of the gallant old sailor had been a fitting close for a life of active benevolence. Death had come to him suddenly, but it had found him not unprepared; it had found him in the path of duty; it had found him pressing onward toward heaven, with his pilgrim staff in his hand—faith, hope, and charity in his heart. He was taken away before the infirmities of age had dulled his senses, bowed his frame, or chilled the warm affections of his heart; and he was taken away in the very act of risking his life to save that of a fellow-creature! Is there nothing enviable in such a departure?
Dark, heavy clouds had blotted out the sun from the sky, when Clemence returned with Vincent to her home, a lifeless corpse in the vehicle beside her. Her own calmness appeared strange to herself, but it was the stunning effect of a terrible shock, which for a while had almost paralyzed feeling. She was met in the hall by Arabella, who looked pale, and whose manner betrayed considerable excitement.
“Louisa is very ill,—goes from one faint into another,—Aunt Selina has sent for Dr. Howard!”
But not one word of sympathy to the bereaved Clemence—not one word of regret for the brave old man! Arabella averted her eyes almost with a shudder as the body was borne into the house. Clemence and Vincent saw it reverently placed on the bed in the room which the captain had occupied on the preceding night, and then, when the servants had quitted the apartment, both sank on their knees beside it and wept.
Clemence’s burst of sorrow was violent, but brief; she folded her step-son in her arms, drew him close and closer to her heart, and it was like balm to her bleeding spirit to feel the boy’s tears on her neck.