"It is our last farewell! Yet--oh, pause and think--she is your child. Have you no word--no last word of love nor plea for pardon--to send?"
For a moment his his quivered, his breast heaved and he turned toward the other, and outer, door, so that I thought he meant to go without another sign. But, some impulse stirring in his heart, he moved back again to where I stood; murmuring, I heard him say:
"In all the world she has none other but you. Remember that. Farewell forever. And--in days to come--teach her not to hate--my memory. Farewell."
Then, his hand on the latch of the outer door, he pointed to the other and the stairs beyond.
While I, stealing up them, knew that neither his child nor I would ever see him more, and, so knowing, prayed that God would at last bring ease and comfort to the erring man.
As I neared the door of the room in which she had slept she opened it and came forth upon the bare landing--pale, as I saw in the light of the now fully broken day, but with much of the fever gone; also with, upon her face, that smile which ever made summer in my heart.
"You are better," I said, folding her to me, "better? Have slept well? Is it not so?" Yet, even as I spoke, I led her back to the room whence she had come. She must not descend yet! "You have not stirred all through the night, I know."
"I dreamt," she said, "that you came to me, bade me farewell forever. Yet that passed, and again I dreamed that we should never part more. Therefore, I was happy, even in my sleep." Then broke off to say: "Hark! They are stirring in the house. Are the horses being prepared? I hear one shaking its bridle. Can any go forth to-day?" and she moved toward the window.
"Nay, Juana," I said, leading her back again, although imperceptibly, to the middle of the room, "do not go to the window. The cold is intense--stay here by my side."
Not guessing my reason--since it was impossible she should understand what was happening below!--I led her back. Led her back so that she should not see one come forth from the stable whom she deemed dead and destroyed--so that she should not be blasted by the sight of her father passing away in actual life from her forever; then sat down by her side and led the conversation to our future--to how we should get away from here to England and to safety. Also, I told her not to bewail, as she did again and again, my failure to proceed further on my journey to Flanders and the army; demonstrated, to her that, at least, there had been no failure in the mission I had undertaken; that my secret service had been carried out--and well carried out, too--and, consequently, my return mattered not very much with regard to a week or month. The allies, I said, could fight and win their battles very well without my aid, as I doubted not they were doing by now, while--for the rest--had I not done my share both here and in Spain? Proved, too--speaking a little self-vauntingly, perhaps, by reason of my intense desire to soothe and cheer her and testify that she had been no barrier in my path to glory--that I, also, though far away from my comrades, had stood in the shadow of death, had been face to face with the grim monster equally with those who braved the bayonets, the muskets and the cannon of Louis' armies.