But his accents fell unheeded; his brother-in-law and the friar were gone; he was left alone with his departing lady and Beatrice Grey.
Sir Guy de Montgomeri stood pensively at the foot of the bed: his arms were crossed upon his bosom, his chin was sunk upon his breast; his eyes were filled with tears; the dim rays of the fading watch-light gave a darker shade to the furrows on his brow, and a brighter tint to the little bald patch on the top of his head,—for Sir Guy was a middle-aged gentleman, tall and portly withal, with a slight bend in his shoulders, but that not much: his complexion was somewhat florid,—especially about the nose; but his lady was in extremis, and at this particular moment he was paler than usual.
"Bim! bome!" went the bell. The knight groaned audibly; Beatrice Grey wiped her eye with her little square apron of lace de Malines; there was a moment's pause,—a moment of intense affliction; she let it fall,—all but one corner, which remained between her finger and thumb.—She looked at Sir Guy; drew the thumb and forefinger of her other hand slowly along its border, till they reached the opposite extremity. She sobbed aloud: "So kind a lady!" said Beatrice Grey.—"So excellent a wife!" responded Sir Guy. "So good!" said the damsel.—"So dear!" said the knight.—"So pious!" said she.—"So humble!" said he.—"So good to the poor!"—"So capital a manager!"—"So punctual at matins!"—"Dinner dished to a moment!"—"So devout!" said Beatrice.—"So fond of me!" said Sir Guy.—"And of Father Francis!"—"What the devil do you mean by that?" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri.
The knight and the maiden had rung their antiphonic changes on the fine qualities of the departing Lady, like the Strophe and Antistrophe of a Greek play. The cardinal virtues once disposed of, her minor excellences came under review:—She would drown a witch, drink lambs'-wool at Christmas, beg Dominie Dumps's boys a holiday, and dine upon sprats on Good Friday!—A low moan from the subject of these eulogies seemed to intimate that the enumeration of her good deeds was not altogether lost on her,—that the parting spirit felt and rejoiced in the testimony.
"She was too good for earth!" continued Sir Guy.
"Ye-ye-yes!" sobbed Beatrice.
"I did not deserve her!" said the knight.
"No-o-o-o!" cried the damsel.
"Not but that I made her an excellent husband, and a kind; but she is going, and—and—where, or when, or how—shall I get such another?"
"Not in broad England—not in the whole wide world!" responded Beatrice Grey; "that is, not just such another!"—Her voice still faltered, but her accents on the whole were more articulate; she dropped the corner of her apron, and had recourse to her handkerchief; in fact, her eyes were getting red,—and so was the tip of her nose.