"And you will be Augusta's guardian and guide. You and Ravensworth I have made co-trustees and guardians. Oh! bring her up to emulate her dear mother,—this is my dying wish,—let it be sacred! I should of all things like the union of our families in Augusta and your Arthur, but only if they love each other. You will bury me side by side with Ellen. And that is all. You may call Mr. Power now."
The last Sacrament was then devotionally received by the dying man, his pastor, the Marquis, and Mr. Ravensworth. Then the Earl, whose breathing became short and painful, expressed a wish to be left alone for some short time. He kissed Augusta, and pressed the hand of his friends, who adjourned to the ante-room, so as to be in hearing of the slightest call. They heard his difficult breathing grow shorter and fainter, till at last the gasps were few and very distant from each other, and then ceased to be heard.
"He must be sleeping," said the Marquis. "I will go and see."
He stole to the bedside. The Earl's hands were clasped in the attitude of prayer, his lips slightly parted, his eyes closed,—and for ever! Through the door of his lips the breath no longer flowed. The feather held to his mouth was unswayed,—the mirror untarnished. Without a sigh he had passed away, and had calmly sunk into his long last sleep, smiling while all around him wept.
"Weep not so, my child," said Mr. Power to Augusta, as she threw herself on her father's breast. "Weep not so. Your papa is happy now, and in heaven with your mamma."
But the child wept on, till her uncle and grandfather gently drew her from the scene, each resolving he would be all to that fatherless, motherless little girl, that ever her fond parents could have been, had they been spared to her youthful years.
CONCLUSION.
Our tale is finished. We have seen the curse, pronounced long ages ago, fulfilled on a whole race! Each in the flower of her age, each in the pride of his strength, has been remorselessly cut down by Death.
First the accomplished Edith, burned on the night of the wedding-ball of her brother; next the fair-haired Florence, broken-hearted at her young lover's death; then Frank, on the field of glory; then the terrible death of the Captain shocked us, and the self-wrought doom of the unhappy Edward L'Estrange, the hero of the book,—the unhappy, ill-starred man, who should have lived and died, as his happier brother the Earl lived and died. Our heroine, Ellen, faithful to death, fulfilled her promise, Ruth-like, to go where her husband went; to lodge where he lodged; his people became her people, and her God his! When he died she died, and nought parted them—not even death! We cannot dismiss our favourite without a few passing words on her character.