“You and God be my witnesses!”
She sprang up wildly from her apparent state of lethargy, clasped me fervently in her arms, blessed me repeatedly, and then, in the midst of her raptures, she cried out, “Oh, Ralph, you have renewed my being, you have given me long years of life, and health, and happiness. You—” and here she uttered a loud shriek, that reverberated through the mansion—but it was cut short in the very midst—a thrilling, a horrible silence ensued—she fell dead upon the couch.
I stood awe-struck over the beautiful corpse, as it lay placidly extended, disfigured by no contortion, but on the contrary, a heavenly repose in the features—a sad mockery of worldly vanity. Death had arrayed himself in the last imported Parisian mode.
At that dying shriek, in rushed the household, headed by the physician, and closely followed by the companion, with the hired nurses. Methought that the doctor looked on this wreck of mortality with grim satisfaction. “I knew it,” said he, slowly; “and Doctor Phillimore is nothing more than a solemn dunce. I told him that she would not survive to be subjected to the consultation of the morrow. And how happens it,” said he, turning fiercely to the companion and the nurses, “that my patient was thus left alone with this stripling?”
“Stripling, sir!” said I.
“Young man, let us not make the chamber of death a hall of contention. Tell me, Miss Tremayne, how comes my patient thus unattended, or rather, thus ill attended?”
“It was her own positive command,” said the young lady, in a faltering voice.
“Ah! she was always imperious, always obstinate. There must have been some exciting conversation between you, sir (turning to me), and the lady; did you say anything to vex or grieve her?”
“On the contrary; she was expressing the most unbounded hope and happiness when she died.”
“And the name of God was not on her lips, the prayer for pardon not in her heart, when she was snatched away.”