As I must on thine, beloved as thou art—
A spirit hath led me to thee, love.”
“Yes, Lilian—thy loved Lilian, hath given thee to Evelyn—Reginald, too, looks upon me with tender and forgiving eyes. See! they descend together to bless our union—they bear a wreath of orange blossoms and myrtle—they place it on my burning brow—it is cool—cool—delicious! Oh! what fragrance! It soothes my brain—it recalls my senses—the dews of Paradise fall like a shower of pearls over my tangled hair. Ah! see—they place a white moss rose on my bosom—it stills the throbbings of my heart—it deadens the pain! Thanks, blessed, loving angels! Pray for poor Evelyn. She is saved!”
As she uttered these words an exquisite perfume filled the sick chamber, and I saw, as it were, a halo of white light around the head of the poor sufferer, and fancied I beheld a hand, white as alabaster, holding a rose to her breast. A moment, and the light faded, or rather, gave place to the sickly rays of the early dawn, as they penetrated the closed blinds and shone on the pale form of the patient. Was this a vision or a mere disorder of the fancy? I know not; but I do know that from that moment the fever left her; that she slept profoundly for twelve consecutive hours; and on awakening was declared convalescent.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE PROPOSAL
It was the sixteenth of August; the heat had been intense, but toward evening a cool air stirred the leaves of the trees, and entered the open window of the pretty boudoir in the Avenue Gabriel. That day our beloved invalid quitted her room for the first time. Languidly reclining on an elegant couch of pale green silk, her sweet face half buried in the rich lace which ornamented the downy cushions, she enjoyed the voluptuous sensations incident to the convalescent state. Ella had decked the apartment with flowers, to fête the recovery of her dear mother, and a silver tea-service, standing on a small table near, plentifully supplied with cakes and fruit, added greatly to the home comfort of the scene.
Evelyn’s illness, if it had somewhat detracted from the brilliancy of her beauty, had replaced it with an air of delicacy and refinement, which, perhaps, suited still better the classic outline of her features. Her complexion, transparent as porcelain, was now colorless, if we except a bright spot on either cheek—the result of emotion rather than of returning health. Her soft, hazel eyes seemed humid with a tender languor which gave to them a remarkable charm. The warm pulses of renewed life and hope seemed to pervade each nerve and fibre of her being. I could scarcely keep my eyes from looking at her, while Ella, echoing my thoughts, exclaimed:
“Dearest mama, how very beautiful you look this evening!”