"Oh! speak to me, speak to me, my wife! Give some sign that I have not come too late!"
The most wonderful expression I ever saw stole over that face; it came like moonlight on dark waters,—a gleam of hope breaking through the agonies of death. Her lips moved. He bent down and listened.
"You have loved me?"
There was no noise; but we knew that she was saying this by the movement of her lips.
For an instant, Mr. Lee seemed stunned. The question struck him to the soul; then his noble head was uplifted, and, looking tenderly into those wistful eyes, he said, "I have always loved you, my wife. God is my witness, I have always loved you."
That expression deepened on her face. She lifted her hands feebly, and, understanding the sign, he raised her to his bosom. The muslin drapery of her sleeve got entangled in his dress. I attempted to disengage it while her face lay on his bosom. In doing this I touched her hand; the frail fingers clasped mine with the tenacious feebleness of an infant's; and, laying my palm on Mr. Lee's hand, she pressed them softly together, whispering,—
"Be good to her."
He shook all over, while my poor hand lay quivering on his. I drew it away with hushed breath.
She was dying on his bosom; her eyes were uplifted to his; her breath came in faint gasps; the two frail hands folded themselves; and, as the mists of night settle on a lily, that dear face hardened into the marble of death.
I cannot remember all that passed after this, who came into the room, or who went out. I only know that the stillness of death was in the house, the pain of life in our hearts. Sweet sufferer, gentle lady! How white and still she lay on the pretty French bed, with its volumes of lace brooding over her like the clouds in which we imagine seraphs to be sleeping! There was no noisy grief in the room. Even Mrs. Dennison had fled to her own apartment; the suddenness of our calamity shocked even her.