Ethel Churchill/Chapter 73
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
RETURN HOME.
'Tis not my home—he made it home
With earnest love and care;
How can it be my own dear home,
And he no longer there?
I ask'd to meet my father's eyes,
But they were closed to me;
My father, would that I were laid
In the dark grave with thee.
Where should I look for constant love,
To answer unto mine?
Others had many kindred hearts,
But I had only thine.
The shades of the evening closed round just as Henrietta gave one sad start, and turned her face from the carriage-window, as she first recognised a familiar object: it was a clump of firs that grew on a hill, and were a landmark to the country for miles around. Now, they stood dark and phantom-like, thrown out by the crimson sky behind. Her heart sickened with impatience, the time seemed longer now that they drew so near; gradually, the long shadows mingled together, objects became confused, and it was necessary to light the lamps and flambeaux, and the avant-courier began to sound his horn: it was dangerous to risk meeting another carriage in the then state of the roads. All these preparations wound the anxiety of Lady Marchmont to a pitch of feverish agony: her cheek burnt, her hand trembled; she felt a sensation of choking in the throat; she felt confused, dizzy, and yet with one terror present and paramount over all. The carriage stopped; and, for the first time, a scream rose to her lips: she knew that it was at the lodge that they were stopping. It was but a moment, for the gates were open, the porter was not at his lodge, and they drove in.
"Let me out!" exclaimed Henrietta, as the heavy vehicle made its second pause at the hall-door. She sprang from the carriage, and ran into the house: "Where is my uncle?" cried she; but the question was received in dead silence by the assembled servants: the silence was sufficient answer. "He is dead!" said Henrietta, aloud: "I knew it!" and she stood as if rooted to the ground in the middle of the hall.
None who saw her ever forgot her to their dying day; her mantle had dropped on the ground, and her long hair, yet partly gathered up with jewels, fell in black masses over her shoulders. From the feverish pain in her temples, she had pushed it back from her forehead, and the whole face was exposed. It was like that of a corpse, with a strange unnatural spot of red burning on either cheek, and the large eyes fixed and glaring, but with no expression. No one had courage to speak to her, and there she stood for some minutes: a slight movement among the servants recalled her to herself; she started, and hurried at once to her uncle's room. A dim light shewed the dark velvet bed, with its hearse-like plumes, and one or two spectral figures, that seemed to flit round its obscurity: Henrietta saw but one object, the form extended cold and rigid, and the pale and set face, that would never more look affection upon her. Quietly, almost calmly, she approached; and, standing by the bed-side, gazed steadfastly on the body: at last, clasping her hands passionately together, "Leave me!" exclaimed she, throwing herself on her knees beside the bed. The women obeyed; but, ere the door closed, they heard the long suppressed sobs of the heart's uttermost agony.
Again and again did Henrietta start from her knees; and, dashing the tears from her eyes, gaze on the face of the dead, hoping, almost expecting, that some trace of life would appear, and as often did she dash herself down in fruitless despair: there was that on those cold, white features, none ever mistake.
"If I had but seen him, heard his last words, caught his last look, and told him yet once again how I loved him, I could bear his death; but to know that his latest look rested on others, that he wished to see me and did not, is too much to bear!" and again a violent burst of weeping supplied the place of words.
An hour elapsed, and the attendants returned, but Lady Marchmont again dismissed them: that night she had resolved to watch beside the dead. It is well that the body sometimes sinks beneath the mind; Henrietta could not have borne such intense misery, but she grew faint. For nearly two days she had taken neither food nor rest, and even the relief of tears had been denied to her uncertain and feverish suspense. When the attendants came in the morning, they found her, her long black hair wet with tears, her cheek burning, but asleep beside the corpse. It was the heavy worn out slumber of exhaustion.