"Speak not such cruel words, dear mother," replied Ildica, not knowing how terribly the ravager had proceeded in the frame of the loved being who was now her only support. "I see, indeed," she added, "that you are far from well; but I trust that fatigue and anxiety is the chief cause, and that now you have seen so happy an event as the marriage of our dear Ammian with Eudochia; now that you know them to be in safety; now that the speedy prospect of returning to our own land is open before us; now that nothing is wanting to our future peace and happiness but Theodore's return--I trust, I hope, I am sure, dear mother, that joy will prove a good physician, and restore you quite."
"Ildica," answered Flavia, "let us not deceive ourselves, my child. I shall never see the Dalmatian shores again. How long this shattered prison may keep the struggling spirit in its ruined walls, I know not; but in my bosom there is kept a fatal calendar, whereon is marked how much each day takes from the small remaining store of life, and I feel that that store is nearly gone. Like a spendthrift with his treasure, Ildica, I would now fain hoard the little that remains, but know not how, and fear that it will fail me soon. When, five days ago, we halted by the little lake in those grand mountains, I felt that death was coming, but still thought that repose might keep him yet at bay, and give me time to reach some surer resting-place. But in that day's repose, the active enemy still strode on his way; the next day's journey brought him nearer still; and the sad scene of your dear Theodore's parting led him onward almost to the door. I have shut my ear while he knocked, listening to Hope while Ammian's bridal has gone forward; but I felt that Death went with me into that church, and has come hither to sit beside me till I follow him to a brighter land, where the dark herald leaves us for ever at the gate."
Ildica wept bitterly; and her mother, after pausing for several minutes, proceeded:--"Must I tell thee not to weep, my child? Nay, I will not do thee so much wrong! Yes, weep, my Ildica! weep as I would weep for thee; but listen to me. I have said that I felt myself dying when in yon church I sent from us Ammian and Eudochia. I sent them from us, knowing that I might soon have to leave thee here alone, in the midst of a barbarous people, till thy Theodore, thy husband, shall return--alone, with no one to protect thee but domestic slaves, who, though faithful and attached, are still but slaves. Was not this cruel, Ildica? Wilt thou forgive me?"
"Forgive you, dear mother!" cried Ildica, looking up reproachfully at the very thought of forgiveness being necessary; "think you that for my selfish sorrows I would have had Ammian and Eudochia stay in scenes of danger, when peace, and joy, and safety were before them? If peril awaits me, Ammian could not, with his single hand, have averted it. If death be following me, too, in any shape, he could not have shielded me from the lifted dart; and--for the sake of a few kind words and tender consolations, the balm of sympathy, and the fine elixir of kind familiar looks to sooth and cure a wounded heart--think you, dear mother, that I would have perilled his young happiness, and perhaps cast the cloud of misfortune over his whole life? No; let me meet the coming ills alone. There are many with whom I would gladly share the cup of joy, but none whom I would force to drink a part of the bitterer draught which I am bound to quaff. Forgive you, dear mother! oh, there is nothing to forgive!"
"Dear Ildica," cried Flavia, pressing her to her bosom, "noble, beloved girl! Sure, sure I am that, through whatever scenes the will of Heaven may lead you, you will bear up nobly still, and never, never forget that you are the daughter of a Roman. Remember, Ildica--oh, ever remember--the land and race from which you spring. Think of their great deeds and steadfast courage. Remember that, among the best and greatest of our ancient names, your father might have boldly, confidently written down his own; and, whenever difficulty or peril falls upon you, think how a Roman of old days would then have acted, and so act!"
"I will, my mother," cried Ildica, sinking on her knees beside Flavia; "I promise you, by all which is most sacred, that I will! Nothing shall ever make me forget that I am a patrician's child, bound by my nobility of blood to noble conduct. And should the time ever come that I must be tried, the names of my ancestors shall not be blotted out from the roll of fame by any weakness of mine. I promise it! I vow it!" and, with high resolution beaming in her beautiful eyes, she rose, and stood in the majesty of loveliness by her dying mother's side.
"May God bless you, and give you strength in all things, my true child!" Flavia answered; "and yet, Ildica avoid all such trials; turn from all such dangers when you may. Seek not for dangers, but act boldly in them. And now, my child, one more direction, and I leave you to the keeping of your own heart and God's directing Spirit. If I should not live, which is, indeed, beyond all likelihood, to witness Theodore's return, let no vain sorrow for the dead restrain you from giving him your hand at once. If but a single day have passed since the grave has closed over me, meet at the altar with the tear of memory dimming the eye of hope; but delay not your union by a single hour. Wed him, my Ildica! wed your beloved without a hesitation; and fly with him, as speedily as may be, to our dear, beautiful land, where peace and safety shall attend you. To him, Ildica, to him only of all the world could I give you without a fear, without a sigh--to him, noble, just, wise, brave, firm yet tender, generous yet prudent, ardent yet temperate. Oh, Ildica! oh that I could see that day! my last, brightest hope, my fondest wish, my only remaining aspiration on this side of the grave would then be fulfilled; and, as calmly as for a happy sleep, I could lay down my head in the tomb and say, 'Come, quiet Death! life has all finished well!'"
The tears streamed anew down the cheeks of Ildica; and her mother, after a short pause, drew her gently to her, kissed her pure brow, and added, "Now leave me, my sweet child, for one half hour. We shall both be the better of a brief solitude."
Ildica withdrew without reply; for she sought not to add to her mother's emotions by emotions of her own. In her own chamber she turned the hourglass, neither to fall short of nor to exceed the space of time that Flavia had appointed; and she would fain have bent her thoughts to contemplate all the frowning features of her present fate, and the still darker countenance of the future. She felt, however, that to do so would unfit her mind for the task of soothing and consoling the last days of her mother; she felt that she might be shaken and overwhelmed by the burdens which she was destined at different times to bear, if she suffered imagination to attempt to raise them all up at once, in order to feel and try their weight. She resolved, then, that she would not contemplate them until they came upon her one by one; and, murmuring the holy maxim of Him who alone could teach us the wisdom from on high, "Sufficient for the day be the evil thereof," she sank upon her knees and passed the half hour in prayer. When she rose she was calm and prepared, feeling that, though philosophy may teach us to resist firmly the evils of life, it is only religion that can teach us to bear them meekly.
Her mother received her with a smile; and she, too, was calmer--for the fatal truth had been spoken between them, the dark secret had been told; and Flavia herself, prepared to die, was glad to have prepared Ildica for her death. The rest of the day passed over tranquilly; and Flavia seemed relieved, and even better. There was a slight flush upon her cheek, which, though it was not exactly the rosy hue of health, gave a false appearance of returning powers. Her eye, too, was bright, and she breathed, or fancied that she breathed, with less difficulty. She cherished no hope, however; and Ildica was not deceived into the belief that her mother could recover. Her disposition had once been full of hope; but the spring had lain so long under a heavy weight that it had lost its elasticity; and the evening passed calmly, but not cheerfully.