The army doctor from Hong-Kong, who some weeks before had attended Martinworth, was still at Chuzenji. He did his utmost to relieve all pain, and indeed on recovering consciousness Pearl suffered but little. Her spine, independent of other severe internal injuries, was discovered fatally damaged, and Pearl and those around her knew that she was dying. She lingered all that day and all the next, sweet and patient to the end. Rosina and Amy and Lady Martinworth were there. They never left the bedside, and the latter's medical knowledge and gentle, experienced nursing helped greatly to lighten and relieve those last sad and distressing days.
Shortly after Mrs. Nugent had awakened from the deathlike swoon that had lasted so many hours, and when in spite of her diminishing forces she was quite capable of understanding what was wanted of her, she slowly and painfully turned her head on the pillow, and letting her veiled orbs linger on the face bending over her, she read the mute question expressed by Lady Martinworth's miserable eyes.
She put out her hand and gently drew her face to hers.
"He is--drowned," she whispered. "We were--together. The boat upset--in the storm."
That was all. And surely when her spirit stands in judgment before the Throne, Pearl Nugent will be pardoned for having said no more.
She would lie silent and motionless, with her beautiful soft grey eyes, dark with the shadow of death, wide open, while from time to time she would smile with an angelic sweetness at the three women who were watching her.
She spoke but little. Indeed with these few rare exceptions she hardly noticed her watchers, for her thoughts seemed far away from all earthly things. The next day, however, towards the end, as Amy, weeping, was leaning over the bed, she smiled back into her eyes, and whispered very low:
"It is--best so, Amy, dear. Do not weep--for me. I am quite content--more content, more at peace than I have been--for many, many long years. If I had lived--I should not have been happy--nor--should I--have made others--Stanislas--dear, good kind Stanislas--happy. Yes,--it is--best so. I am--quite ready,--quite--willing to--die. No more--difficulties, or--dread, or--terrible indecision,--or--uncertainty now. No more unhappiness--now. All--soon will be made--clear, Amy, dear. When--I am gone--be kind--to Stanislas,--poor--Stanislas, for--he--will grieve, and thank--God--he--will never--know--now, never--know--now. Do not--weep for me, darling. I--have--always--loved--you--Amy. Please--please--do not--weep--so."
And then after a minute or two she sighed and asked: "Where--is he?"
"Ralph went to Tokyo at once to tell him," answered Amy, her voice choked with sobs. "Telegraphic communication has been interrupted by the storm, and the road is washed away. No one can go down or come up from Nikko. Ralph, however, will have got there, Pearl, my darling, even if he had to climb twenty mountains. They will soon be here, darling."