Colonel Clifford appeared much agitated, but at length said, "To what did it relate?"
"To certain anonymous letters written to him while abroad, in India, I think he said, with a regiment of the government troops. Shall I go on?"
With his handkerchief to his eyes the sick man bowed assent.
"As nearly as I can recollect," added Frank, "the gentleman, who was a townsman of mine, met your wife while on a foreign tour, and made proposals to her which she indignantly refused. In order to revenge himself, he wrote to you intimating her guilt in connection with another gentleman."
The distressed man with a dreadful groan fell forward, and would have fallen to the floor had not the Doctor caught him in his arms. He motioned to me to ring the bell, and with the help of a servant who appeared, laid the unconscious man upon the bed. It was some time before he recovered, and when he did, he looked so death-like, that we feared the excitement would terminate his life. I remained until he fell asleep, and then quietly left him with the Doctor.
When Frank returned, he said that the Colonel did not allude to the exciting subject of the interview until just before he left, and then said to him, "I am not equal to continuing the conversation. I have written all that is necessary to my son"—he could go no farther. Since that time the subject has never been alluded to. A holy peace has taken the place of the melancholy expression of his countenance; and he hails with delight every fresh symptom of dissolution. He said yesterday, "God has granted me delightful views of heaven, and the honor and glory of the Saviour, who is the chief among ten thousand, and the one altogether lovely. Oh," he exclaimed in a rapture, "Eternity will be too short to praise him who has redeemed my guilty soul."
This morning he is much revived, and asked the Doctor to pray that he might be ready and waiting, but not be impatient for the coming of the bridegroom. Eugene is tender, and affectionate as a daughter, in his attentions. It often makes the tears start to my eyes, as I witness the look of unuttered love which beams from the eye of the sufferer upon his devoted son. Every day he insists that Eugene shall take exercise in the open air; but this I fear he would be reluctant to do if it were not for the company of his sisters. When released from the sick room he bounds like a young doe to our door and calls them for a walk.
Pauline has often accompanied him to the grave of his mother. To-day he requested me to do so; when the others were about to follow, with his usual frankness he said, "no, dear Pauline, I want to walk with mamma alone." As we passed his house, he ran in and brought out the stool. When we reached the grave, he said as he placed the seat near by, "Dear mamma, I have chosen this place to make a disclosure to you, that if I have done wrong, the thought that my own mother has long been lying here, and that the simple word 'Imogen,' is all I have of her memory, may incline your heart to forgive."
I was very much affected. "Dear Eugene," I said, "I needed not the influence of this sacred spot in order to do that. I have said that you were to me as a son."
"Oh! let me be indeed a son," he exclaimed, throwing himself on the ground before me. "I love my sister Pauline. I love her with an intensity of which I have but lately become aware. Tell me that I have not done wrong; that you and the Doctor approve my love; and I shall be forever grateful."