"Wentworth, if you die your Ellen will not long survive you. Do you recollect too what I told you when we pledged our faith? that not even death should part us—it will not, I feel sure. But here comes Augusta with early flowers, dear child; let us speak of happier things. Come, darling, you must banish these thoughts of gloom; you will be spared long to us both, I am sure."
The Earl shook his head, and rose to greet his little daughter, who had made a bouquet of sweet primroses, violets, and snowdrops, gathered by the burn's side, for her mother. The Countess received the offering with a smile, kissed her daughter, and the family group then returned to the Towers, conversing on ordinary topics. Still through the remainder of the day a cloud often darkened over the Countess's face as she thought on the morning's conversation; and her husband's words, alas! too prophetic in their doom, rung like a death-knell in her ears.
She could not help noticing a peculiar and unusual heaviness about the Earl; he was not like himself all day, and retired to rest at an early hour. Lady Wentworth's fears were, however, partially chased away by the good spirits in which her husband rose next morning. He asked her to accompany him on horseback, with Augusta, to some of the surrounding farms, which she gladly acceded to. They returned at luncheon time, and shortly after that meal her anxiety was first awakened by a rather alarming giddiness and faintness which suddenly attacked the Earl. It was some time ere he recovered his sensibility, and then a severe headache oppressed him, growing so bad that before evening the Countess prevailed on him to allow her to send for the physician. The latter at once perceived it was from fever that he was suffering, and ordered him to bed. For some days no bad symptoms were observed; the doctor was quite sanguine, and told the Countess that he doubted not but that the unimpaired physical strength of the Earl would get the better of the disease. About the eighth day, however, unfavourable symptoms first showed themselves, and the fever assumed the low typhoid form. Another medical adviser was called in. From the first, however, the Earl had told the doctor he should not recover; but this was kept from the Countess, who hoped on still. The fell disease ran on its course, every day the fever became fiercer, and at last even Ellen saw there was little hope of his recovery. The fever did its work of ruin with ruthless vengeance, prostrating its victim, and undermining his strength, till the stout Earl was reduced to the mere shadow of what he had been. From the eighteenth day more or less delirium and stupor set in, and he knew no one, not even Ellen, who with unremitting care had watched him through his illness, and never once left his side, scarcely closing her eyes.
The crisis arrived: for twenty-one days he had been stretched on the bed of sickness,—for nearly four delirium triumphed. About noon he opened his eyes, and when he saw his pale loving wife sitting by him holding his hot dry hand in her own, and chafing his temples, he smiled and articulated the word "Ellen." She eagerly drunk the sound—it was life in death to her.
"You know me then, dearest, you are better?"
"Yes, I know you now, my love. I feel better, but I am very weak. Go and take some sleep, dearest, I shall be better soon."
Exhausted with the exertion of speaking so long, he sank back on his pillow. Ellen kissed his brow softly, and whispering, "I shall soon be back, darling," left him to seek Nature's great restorer, of which the gentle lady had so much need. She never saw him again; she never more came back to sit at his loved side. The fatigue of twenty-one days' watch, twenty-one nights' sleepless vigil, was too much even for her system. Her head ached throbbingly, she could not sleep, so hot and fevered she grew; and when trying to wrestle with tired Nature's demands, she again rose to continue her labour of love, she sank exhausted on the ground. She was placed on a sofa and restoratives employed, but without effect, and about the hour of sunset the doctor pronounced life fled! The Earl recovered from the fever, but not from its effects. He never rose from the bed on which he had so long lain, but during the five days he still survived he was blessed with the full possession of his reason. He missed his kind attentive wife, and often asked after her. Fearing the effects of his learning the sad news, the doctors for some time deceived him so far as to tell him she was only ill, very ill, or would be beside him.
"Why is she not brought here?" he asked. He read the answer in the face of his attendants. "Tell me the whole truth, hide nothing from me—Ellen is no more."
"She is in heaven,—she is happy. My daughter is safe now beyond the storms of life," said Mr. Ravensworth, who stood beside his couch.
"She has been faithful to death," said the dying man, "and has received her crown of life before me. I can die calmer now. I shall see her again very soon. Call my daughter, Augusta; I must bid her adieu. Has the Marquis arrived yet?"