“I had hoped it might have been otherwise; I had hoped, for your sake, that we might have been allowed to live for some little time at least, happily together; but that God whom you have taught me to worship and submit to, no doubt judges wisely; and, we must, I fear, look to our approaching, final separation.”
At these words, poor Emmeline could no longer command herself; an agonized scream escaped from her bursting heart, as she sank on the floor before him.
“My Emmeline! my dear Emmeline!” he cried, endeavouring to raise her in his feeble arms—“Spare me—I entreat you—I cannot bear to see you suffer thus—have pity on me.”
“I will, I will,” she almost convulsively exclaimed, “but this is too—too much for me.”
“You mistake me, Emmeline,” said he, endeavouring to calm the agony he had caused. “There may be hope yet; Baillie is you know famous for seeing every thing en noir—he was very plain-spoken with me, for I forced him to be so; but recollect, Emmeline,” added he, endeavouring to cheer his voice, “even Baillie may be mistaken, and while there is life there is hope: before winter, we are to go to a warmer climate; you will pray to heaven for me, and your prayers, dearest, will perhaps be heard. They have already once restored us to each other; they may do so again. I should not have said all this to you, I believe, but it is so necessary to me now to conceal nothing from you, that I could not have borne the load alone; but, for God’s sake, dear Emmeline, compose yourself, and for my sake, bear up.”
And for his sake, she did exert herself; for of what is the female character not capable, when nerved by strong affection? All was settled for their leaving England the beginning of October, when they were to repair to Lisbon; till then, it was thought that the climate of Hampshire would be better for Fitzhenry than that of Portugal. The season was unusually fine; and, sometimes, when well enough to wander a little way from the house, the balmy air, and cheering sounds and sights of a fine autumn, seemed to revive him; and, if ever he prolonged his walk one yard further than he had done on the preceding day—if he had ever appeared rather more cheerful—his voice stronger—Emmeline, to whose young heart happiness was so necessary, then again, for the moment, gave way to delightful anticipations. Had she ventured to look back, and trace from week to week the rapid progress of the fatal disease, that was fast hurrying its victim to the grave, she could not have indulged even such momentary gleams of hope, but then also, she could not have performed her hard task with the courage she did.
Fitzhenry was generally calm, and even cheerful; and he sometimes talked of what they would do on their return to Arlingford; and projected alterations and improvements in the place; but all such plans for the future, usually ended in a sigh, and were listened to in mournful silence by his wretched wife; and although he thus forced himself to appear interested in worldly affairs, yet, by the turn his conversation now commonly took, it was plain to perceive that the whole tone of his mind was completely changed; and when Emmeline proposed reading to him, he always selected such books as led to reflection, to God, and to a future world.
Their wedding-day, the 19th of August, was the last on which he left the house; his exertions to appear cheerful on that day, had been so much beyond his strength, that they had exhausted him. The next, he could not leave his room. A fortnight more, and he could scarcely raise himself from his couch. The end of September came, and the preparations for their departure for Lisbon continued to be made, no one having the heart to countermand them, although it was very evident to all, that he would never quit his present home, but for that, where he would be for ever at rest. As his bodily strength failed, his mind seemed to gain fresh vigour, and to soar above the cares and sufferings of this transitory life. Resignation was an easier task to him, than to the wretched being who, strong in youth and health, was doomed to remain in that world from which she saw her every joy fast departing. But she never complained; she never wept; at least, her tears were ever concealed from him for whom they flowed. With a steady voice, she read to him of the peace, the bliss of heaven—of forgiveness to penitent sinners; and, when she saw her husband’s eyes raised to that heaven in humble submission to its decrees, she clasped her hands beside him in silence; and if a distinct prayer escaped from her meek heart, it was to implore that she might be released with him from this world of suffering.
One night, after she had read to him that beautiful Essay of Miss Bowdler’s, on the Advantages of Sickness: “I am sure, Emmeline,” said he, in a faint voice, “it will ever be a comfort and joy to you to think, that through your means I have been saved from destruction. When I think what I was only a short twelve-month ago, I bless God for the change, although brought about by such cruel means. Oh! if I could but live my life over again,” he added vehemently: “if I could but feel once more the strength and health of mind and body, of which I made so bad a use; if I could but see you, my own Emmy, the blooming light-hearted girl you were when I married you, when I so cruelly scorned and neglected you, how superlatively happy I should be. But all is over now; the past cannot be recalled, and there is no future for me in this world; and yet, convinced as I am of this, do you know that even now I sometimes, during the long, tedious, sleepless hours of night, still foolishly indulge in vain dreams of happiness, and picture to myself our future life here; I see you admired by every one—the charm, the ornament of my home, (for proud, worldly ideas will still cling to me.) I fancy I see that innocent beaming smile I once saw—I hear that joyous laugh I used to hear till my unkindness silenced it; in fancy, we ride together, we waltz together,” said he, forcing a faint smile: “and this perfect earthly bliss, which providence offered me, I rejected and spurned—spurned you, who would have made my home a heaven to me, and not one word of reproach have I heard from you. Oh, Emmeline, if you were less kind to me, I believe I should suffer less bitterly; that smile, that look of love cuts me to the very soul. There is only one comfort of which you have not been deprived by me, that of an approving conscience, and the hope of happiness beyond the grave; for in heaven we shall be again united, and by your means. I trust I am not too presumptuous, but the entire resignation with which I look to approaching death, though now possessed of every blessing this world can give, and the hope with which I anticipate meeting you, my guardian angel, in the next, gives me a strong feeling of confidence, that my past errors are blotted out.”
Fitzhenry’s voice became choked, he sank back and closed his eyes, and for some time they both remained silent.