Mary Wallace lost all her reserve, in the gush of tenderness and sympathy, that now swept all before it. Throughout the whole of that morning, she hung about Guert, as the mother watches the ailing infant. If his thirst was to be assuaged, her hand held the cup; if his pillow was to be replaced, her care suggested the alteration; if his brow was to be wiped, she performed that office for him, suffering no other to come between her and the object of her solicitude.
There were moments when the manner in which Mary Wallace hung over Guert, was infinitely touching. Anneke and I knew that her very soul yearned to lead his thoughts to dwell on the subject of the great change that was so near. Nevertheless, the tenderness of the woman was so much stronger than even the anxiety of the Christian, that we perceived she feared the influence on his wound. At length, happily for an anxiety that was beginning to be too painful for endurance, Guert spoke on the subject, himself. Whether his mind adverted naturally to such a topic, or he perceived the solicitude of his gentle nurse, I could not say.
“I cannot stay with you long, Mary,” he said, “and I should like to have Mr. Worden's prayers, united to yours, offered up in my behalf. Corny will seek the Dominie, for an old friend?”
I vanished from the room, and was absent ten minutes. At the end of that time, Mr. Worden was ready in his surplice, and we went to the sick room. Certainly, our old pastor had not the way of manifesting the influence of religion, that is usual to the colonies, especially to those of the more northern and eastern portion of the country; yet, there was a heartiness in his manner of praying, at times, that almost persuaded me he was a good man. I will own, however, that Mr. Worden was one of those clergymen who could pray much more sincerely for certain persons, than for others. He was partial to poor Guert; and I really thought this was manifest in his accents, on this melancholy occasion.
The dying man was relieved by this attention to the rites of the church. Guert was not a metaphysician; and, at no period of his life, I believe, did he ever enter very closely into the consideration of those fearful questions which were connected with his existence, origin, destination, and position, in the long scale of animated beings. He had those general notions on these subjects, that all civilized men imbibe by education and communion with their fellows, but nothing more. He understood it was a duty to pray; and I make no doubt he fancied there were times and seasons in which this duty was more imperative than at others; and times and seasons when it might be dispensed with.
How tenderly and how anxiously did Mary Wallace watch over her patient, during the whole of that sad day! She seemed to know neither weariness nor fatigue. Towards evening, it was just as the sun was tinging the summits of the trees with its parting light, she came towards Anneke and myself, with a face that was slightly illuminated with something like a glow of pleasure, and whispered to us, that Guert was better. Within ten minutes of that moment, I approached the bed, and saw a slight movement of the patient's hand, as if he desired me to come nearer.
“Corny,” said Guert, in a low, languid voice—“it is nearly all over. I wish I could see Mary Wallace, once more, before I die!”
Mary was not, could not be distant. She fell upon her knees, and clasped the yielding form of her lover to her heart. Nothing was said on either side; or, if aught were said, it was whispered, and was of a nature too sacred to be communicated to others. In that attitude did this young woman, long so coy and so difficult to decide, remain for near an hour, and in that quiet, cherishing, womanly embrace, did Guert Ten Eyck breathe his last.
I left the sufferer as much alone with the woman of his heart, as comported with prudence and a proper attention on my part; but it was my melancholy duty to close his eyes. Thus prematurely terminated the earthly career of as manly a spirit as ever dwelt in human form. That it had imperfections, my pen has not concealed; but the long years that have since passed away, have not served to obliterate the regard so noble a temperament could not fail to awaken.