Anxiously Sir Henry watched the intelligence of his eye, as he examined her arm, and with a sigh received the account. It was, indeed, not only too late to amputate the limb; but her state was such, that the succeeding day would be the utmost limit of her existence!
A groan burst from the bosom of the wretched patient, who, in agonized frenzy, alternately entreated the surgeon to save her, and implored the mercy of Heaven. Medicine was administered to compose her, which, in some degree, had the effect; and the remainder of the day and following night passed in broken slumber and prayer.
The ensuing morning, on awaking, she perceived Sir Henry and Louise kneeling by her bed; and, regarding them some moments, with a tremulous voice said—"And dost thou, Harry, kneel to Heaven, to intercede for thy guilty parent?—Oh God! accept his prayers, though mine be rejected! and for each ill I have—and would have done him, shower a blessing on his head! But I must be quick. Reason totters, and life beats uncertain at my heart. Talton—Harland—come hither. Pursue not Mallet. The wealth he has taken—let him retain! Let Louise's fortune be restored, and the rest of my property equally divided between her and her brother—except my picture; which, Talton, I would wish you to have; and, when you view the resemblance, let pity draw a veil over my vices, and waft a prayer to Heaven—they may there be forgiven!—Pray for me, my gentle Louise!—Harry, forgive thy mother. Leave me not whilst a symptom of life remains; bear with my wanderings, and whilst I have sense to give it—receive a last blessing!"
—Life, however, was not so near its close, though it fluctuated in its channels. Repeated faintings prepared them for the last awful moment. Sir Henry and Louise, as Lady Corbet had requested, never left her; and evening was fast closing as she faintly grasped the hand of Sir Henry—drew him nearer to her, and, sighing a broken prayer—expired on the bosom of Louise!—
CHAPTER VI.
A piercing scream from Louise as she sunk insensible by the side of her mother, roused Mr. Talton and Harland from a serious reflexion on the object before them. The Lieutenant gently raised and conveyed her to an adjoining room, where, by the assistance of Mrs. Brown, life soon returned. He attempted not to restrain the first effusions of filial sorrow; the heart of Louise, he knew, was the seat of sensibility; but fortitude and religion were likewise its inmates. In the latter she found a resource; and he had soon the satisfaction of seeing her features impressed with a mild though sad serenity.
Sir Henry and Mr. Talton, in the mean time, silently retired to pay that tribute to the memory of Lady Corbet, she had not altogether merited; but, to Sir Henry, the last moments of her life had atoned for her preceding conduct: nor could Mr. Talton retain a spark of resentment for her ungenerous behaviour to himself: over her actions he drew the veil of oblivion, and gave a sigh and tear of pity to the untimely close of her existence.
The next morning he conferred with Sir Henry, and, at his desire, undertook the care of the funeral. As Lady Corbet had requested, her remains were conveyed to Holly seat, and deposited in the vault, by her father. Mr. Talton, Sir Henry, and Harland attended; nor would Louise be debarred from paying this final mark of respect to her mother; and a last tear fell on her coffin, as she silently preferred a prayer, that, with her ashes, the remembrance of her vices might be for ever buried from the world!