But this moment of selfish love and despair was short. His thoughts returned to her—her alone. He must save her—save her at whatever cost. But how? It seemed as if an hour had passed away. It was useless to hope for the return of the sledge.—He thought he felt the ice quiver anew beneath his feet.—He looked at the dark current behind. Should he jump into the water, and endeavor to regain the shore they had left, but now no longer visible?—He hesitated a moment—no, that would expose her to certain death, and a more speedy one than now threatened them. It would be better to remain where they were, and endure the fearful suspense to the end.
They therefore remained motionless for some minutes more of silent agony. Notwithstanding her courage, the young girl's strength began to fail. Her sight grew dim. There was a strange hum in her ears. Then her head fell on her cousin's shoulder.
“Oh! I am dying,” murmured she. “May God restore you to your mother, Clement!”
At this moment of supreme anguish, Clement raised his eyes to heaven, and the cry of love and despair [pg 317] that rose from his heart was a prayer as ardent and pure as was ever uttered by childlike faith. He felt he was heard. Yes, almost at the same instant.—Was he mistaken? Afar off, so far he could hardly catch the sound, he thought he heard the jingle of bells. He listened without breathing.—O Divine Goodness! is it true?—Yes, yes, there is no longer any doubt. The sound becomes more distinct. It approaches.—It is really the sledge.—It is coming rapidly; it reaches them; it stops; it is really there!
“Blessed be God! she is saved!” was Clement's cry. But Fleurange, overcome by weakness and terror, was already senseless in his arms.
He bore her to the sledge, and as he placed her within, but half conscious of what was occurring, he pressed her once more to his heart with unrestrained tenderness, and said: “Adieu, dear Gabrielle. Regret not that I die here. God is good. He spares me the sorrow of living without you.” And he added, in a lower tone: “Gabrielle, I have loved you more than anything else in the world. I can acknowledge it now, for death is at hand.” Then he stepped back, and ordered the young guide to hurry away.
His first words had only been indistinctly heard by Fleurange, as in a dream; but she clearly understood this precise order. It brought her at once to herself.
“Away!” she exclaimed. “Away without you! What do you mean?”
“It must be so,” said Clement. “The sledge can only hold you and the guide. Any additional weight would be dangerous. Go, without an instant's delay.”
“Never!” said Fleurange resolutely. “Clement, we will all three die here, rather than leave you!”