"She is gone!" said Sir Harry West; "she is gone! God receive your soul, sweet girl!"
But Seymour still held her in his arms, and bending down his eyes upon the inanimate form of her he loved, wept long and bitterly. When he raised them at length, and gazed upon her face, he was surprised to see a smile upon her lips. He almost fancied that he had deceived himself,--that she still lived. But it was fixed and immovable, only to be changed by the slow decay of the tomb.
"How sweet she looks," said Sir Harry West, in a whisper, to the chaplain. "I have often heard, that the look we bore in infancy comes back upon us after death."
"With those who have lived a good life," replied the clergyman, in the same tone; "and one has but to gaze upon that face, to see that she has departed to peace and rest.--Be comforted, sir," he said, advancing and taking William Seymour's hand; "be comforted. If ever there was one for whose release from a life of care and sorrow, those she has left behind should rejoice rather than mourn, it was this sweet lady. Here on earth, she had nothing to expect but misery. Where she is gone, she has nothing to meet with but joy and glory. Pure and blameless in her life, full of faith and truth, relying on the atonement of her Saviour to wipe out the only stain upon her--the stain of Adam's fault, we cannot, we dare not doubt, that joy will be her portion for evermore."
"It were worse than blasphemy!" said Sir Harry West.
"True, true," answered Seymour; "I know it is so; I know these tears are selfish; but tell me, can a man lose the brightest possession that God has given him, and remain to linger on through years, destitute of that which made life valuable, and yet not mourn?--Bless thee, my sweet wife!" he continued, bending down and kissing her cold brow. "May I soon join thee! for did the Almighty's will give me back all that I have lost but thee, ay, and add state and station, wealth and high command, friends, honours, glory, all that earth can afford, I still have lost the jewel of my soul, which nothing but another world can restore.--I dare not, sir," he added, turning to the chaplain, "in the presence of my departed saint, call down upon the heads of those that wronged her, the vengeance which is their due; but sure I am that the retributive hand of Heaven will not be idle; and that for such deeds as these, when Almighty forbearance is exhausted, due payment will be given.--Ay, I am sure of it, on him and on his race shall descend the awful curse that plagues the wicked from generation to generation. From father unto son it shall extend, and one shall lay the foundation of the other's downfall. Blood and destruction, sorrow and dishonour, defeat, disgrace and desolation, shall haunt them to remote posterity; and the life and sufferings of Arabella Stuart shall stand upon the page of history, to justify, even in the eyes of men, the terrible vengeance of a righteous God."
"Hush, I beseech you, hush!" exclaimed the chaplain. "Remember, such words repeated----"
"I fear him not," replied William Seymour, vehemently; "he has taken from me the life of my life; and he can but send me to join her somewhat sooner. Oh, that he would--the crime were his then, not mine; and were it not for the fatal promise I have sealed with honour, to stay but four and twenty hours within these realms, I would beard him on his throne, and tell him of all his infamy.--Nay, my kind friend," he added, speaking to Sir Harry West, who advanced and took his hand, "I will keep my word; but, had I not poured forth the indignation of my heart, I think that it would have broken.--Now leave me here for a short time; I would fain spend an hour in sad and solemn thought beside her I so dearly loved. I shall be calmer then; for I will try to pray, and seek submission to the will of God.--If you will wait for me that time, Sir Harry, I will take my last leave of all I loved on earth, and gladly quitting these hated shores, will seek in other lands for some tranquillity."
No one opposed his request; but leaving him alone with the dead body of Arabella, Sir Harry West and Ida Mara remained in the ante-room till the clock struck one.
That sound seemed to rouse William Seymour; for a few minutes after he came forth, with a countenance sad and stern, but calmer than before.