Tempest and Sunshine

by Mary Jane Holmes

Fanny was bewildered, and looked imploringly at Mr. Miller, who said, "Richard, do you think it is Julia who is standing by you now?" The sick man gave a startled look and almost shrieked out, "Julia? Yes, is it not Julia? Speak quick and tell me, isn't Julia here?" Mr. Miller's eyes filled with tears as he answered sadly, "No, Richard, Julia is not here; it is Fanny who has come." A deathly paleness passed over Mr. Wilmot's face and a paroxysm of delirium ensued more violent than any which had preceded it. At last it partially passed off and he became comparatively calm, but still persisted in thinking it was Julia whose hand he held in his and whose breath was upon his cheek. "Heaven bless you for coming, beloved one," he would say, "I knew you would come, and still the dreadful thought has haunted me, that you might be false, for that was a cruel letter; but you did not write it, did you?"

Fanny answered through her tears, "No, Mr. Wilmot, I did not write it. It is Fanny who is speaking to you." But Mr. Wilmot understood only the first part of what she said, and continued, "I knew you did not, I am satisfied now to die; and yet 'tis hard to die when I am so young and so far from home, but it is sweet to know that I have your love to the last. When I am dead, you will tell them at home how I loved and prayed for them. My mother will weep bitterly for her son, who died so far away, but she does not love me as well as you do, does she, dearest?"

Just then Dr. Lacey entered the room. He seemed surprised [pg 053] to see Fanny there, and to hear the words of endearment addressed to her by Mr. Wilmot, but Mr. Miller softly told him of the mistake. This seemed to satisfy him, but he anxiously noted every change of Fanny's countenance. At last Mr. Wilmot said, "If you did not write that letter, who did? Was it, could it have been your sister?"

"Oh, no! No!" said Fanny, "I did not write it."

"I know you did not, dearest," said he; "you would not do such a thing, but who did? I cannot think it was Fanny, who was always so gentle, so guileless."

Poor Fanny! She felt that her beloved teacher was dying with a suspicion of her innocence, and she wept most bitterly. At last a change passed over Mr. Wilmot's face, a change which showed that the last trying moment had come. It frequently occurs with dying persons that at the last their faculties are for a moment fully restored. So it was with Mr. Wilmot. A bright smile broke over his face and looking up at Mr. Miller, he said, "I thank my Heavenly Father I can see again. Now, where is Julia? I would look on her face once more."

"I told you," said Mr. Miller, "that you were mistaken; it is not Julia."

"Not Julia!" said Mr. Wilmot, again becoming delirious. "Not Julia! It cannot be true." Then drawing Fanny toward him he looked earnestly in her face. Slowly the bitter truth broke over his mind, and he said, "Yes, I was mistaken! But I bless you for coming; but Julia, my too dearly loved Julia—she is not here. Oh, if I can never see her in this world, shall I see her in heaven?"

They were the last words he ever uttered. Falling back on his pillow, he drew Fanny's face to his, and with his last breath kissed her quivering lips, and all was over. Sadly Mr. Miller closed the eyes of his departed friend, and smoothing the covering about him, left him to the care of the servants. A few hours later, Fanny entered the room with Dr. Lacey, again to look on the face of Mr. Wilmot. The sun was just rising, and its first red rays fell upon the marble features of the dead. There was on his face an expression so calm and heavenly that Fanny held her breath while looking at him, lest she should disturb his peaceful repose. At length she kissed his cold forehead, and silently left the room which contained the pale sleeper.

In the course of a few hours she returned home, bearing the sad tidings, which was received by her mother with a burst of tears; but Julia preserved the same indifference which had [pg 054] been manifested throughout all Mr. Wilmot's illness. Hard-hearted as she was, there came a time in after years when that proud head was bowed with grief, and those dark eyes were bedimmed by tears of penitence, which could not atone for the past; for they were of no avail to bring back the dead from their silent resting place.