“You, lady! Why should you pray so earnestly that I might live, whose death would profit many, but whose recovery none?”
“Because I have wronged you, Ralph. Yes, Ralph! You know me now. Do not ask to see my patched and painted face again, because it is not mine, but listen to my voice, which you remember. I am your own wife, Lucy, and I love you, husband mine.”
“She loves me still,” murmured the dying man: “she owns herself my wife, thank God, thank God!” The tears rolled down his cheeks, and over his rough and ghastly face a mellow softness stole, like the last gleam of sunset upon a rocky hill. Dr Haldane rose and noiselessly left the room, beckoning Mary to follow. The dying husband and his wife were left to hold their last interview alone.
“What I have been telling you, Ralph, as the history of another, is my own. I have never forgotten you. I have loved you all along. Forgive me, if I seem to have sacrificed you to—to those it was my duty to shield from shame. I could not hear to see disgrace fall upon my children, and so I fled from them, in hopes to save them from it. And yet I loved them so that I could not altogether leave them, but took this cottage in another name, and under this disguise, in order to be near them. *
* The author having been informed by a critical friend that
he has exposed himself to the charge of plagiarism, by
representing Lady Lisgard as thus assuming the character of
another person, begs to state—first, that he has never had
the opportunity of reading the powerful novel, East Lynn
(wherein, as he understands, a similar device is employed);
and secondly, that the idea of the metamorphosis is taken
from a short story (written by himself) which was published
in Chambers's Journal, under the title of “Change for Gold,”
so long ago as 1854.
O lover, husband, who saved my life at peril of his own, a mother's heart was my excuse—be generous and noble as of old—forgive me!”
“Forgive you!” gasped the sick man: “nay, forgive me! How could I ever have sought to do you wrong! My own dear Lucy!” In an instant she had plucked away so much of her disguise as was about her face and head, and was leaning over him with loving eyes.
“How many years ago, wife, is it since you kissed me last?” murmured the dying man. “My outward sight is growing very dim; I do not recognise my Lucy's face, although I know 'tis she; but I see her quite clearly sitting in the cottage-porch beside the shining river. How it roars among the rounded stones, and how swiftly it is running to the sea! Round my neck, love, you will presently find the little locket with that dead sprig of fuchsia in it which you gave me when we plighted troth. Let that he buried with me; I have had no love or care for sacred things, but perhaps——They say that God is very merciful; and since He sees into our inmost thoughts, He will know with what reverence I held that simple gift, because it was your own, and you were His. I loved you most, I swear, because you were so pure and good, Lucy. Ah me! I wonder, in the world to come, if I or he”——
A piercing cry broke from my Lady's lips. “Spare me, Ralph—spare me!”
“Yes, yes. It was done for the best, I know. Don't fret, dear heart. Of course you thought me Dead. For certain, I am dying now—fast, fast. Thank God for that! It would have been a woeful thing, having thus found my Own, to have left her straightway, and taken my lone way through the world again, knowing the thing I know. But I would have done it, never fear. Are you sure of those two, Lucy—that were here a while ago—quite sure? My dying curse upon them, if they breathe to human ear our sacred secret! They love you? That is well. I would have all the world to love you; and may all those you love repay that priceless gift with tender duty.” Here he paused, as if to gather together his little remaining strength; and when he spoke again, it was with a voice so low that my Lady had to place her ear quite close to his pale lips to catch his words. But she did hear them, every one. “The prayers of a man like me may avail nothing, Lucy, but at least they can do no harm. God bless Sir Richard—yes, yes! God bless Master Walter's handsome face! God bless Miss Letty! That's what I said on Christmas-eve with Steve and the rest of them, not knowing whom I spoke of, and I say it now, for are they not my Lucy's dear ones! God bless you, my dear wife. Kiss—kiss.”