She did as he desired, but Pennell was too sleepy to talk. In five minutes he had fallen fast asleep, and it was with difficulty she could persuade him to abandon the couch and drag his weary limbs up to bed, where he threw himself down in a profound slumber. Harriet was also tired. Her husband was breathing heavily as she slipped into her place beside him. His arm was thrown out over her pillow, as though he feared she might go to sleep without remembering to wish him good-night! She bent over him and kissed him passionately on the lips.
“Good-night, my beloved,” she whispered, “sleep well, and wake in happiness!”
She kissed the big hand too that lay upon her pillow and composed herself to sleep while it still encircled her.
The dawn is early in Florence, but it had broken for some time before she roused herself again. The sun was streaming brightly into the long, narrow, uncurtained windows, and everything it lighted on was touched with a molten glory. Harriet started up in bed. Her husband’s arm was still beneath her body.
“Oh! my poor darling!” she exclaimed, as though the fault were her own, “how cramped he must be! How soundly we must have slept not to have once moved through the night!”
She raised Tony’s arm and commenced to chafe it. How strangely heavy and cold it felt. Why! he was cold all over! She drew up the bedclothes and tucked them in around his chin. Then, for the first time, she looked at his face. His eyes were open.
“Tony, Tony!” she exclaimed, “are you making fun of me? Have you been awake all the time?”
She bent over his face laughingly, and pressed a kiss upon his cheek.
How stiff it felt! My God! what was the matter? Could he have fainted? She leapt from the bed, and running to her husband’s side, pulled down the bedclothes again and placed her hand upon his heart. The body was cold—cold and still all over! His eyes were glazed and dull. His mouth was slightly open. In one awful moment she knew the truth. Tony was—dead!
She stood for some moments—some hours—some months—she could not have reckoned the time, silent and motionless, trying to realise what had occurred. Then—as it came upon her, like a resistless flood which she could not stem, nor escape, Harriet gave one fearful shriek which brought the servants hurrying upstairs to know what could be the matter.