bridge, and then calling a coach. There was something cool and soothing in the atmosphere; the half-town birds twittered in a sleepy undertone, amid the ivy and the shrubs; and a long ray of light shot from where that poor faithful Irishman was watching the glimmering life of him, whose earthly pilgrimage was on the threshold of renewed existence. I loitered slowly past the old Brompton watchman-who called the hour in a whisper -and just as I did so, the ray from Mr. Lyndsey's window shot as it were over the wall, crossing the path with a bar of light. I felt assured the candle must have been moved, and I also felt at the moment that I ought not to leave the house. Helen would best plead her cause alone. I retraced my footsteps. I dare say it was but a nervous fancy; I always say so; but when my hand was on the bell I felt as if a shadow-an unsubstantial presence passed me; I saw nothing --and touched nothing; and yet something passed me, not on earth but in the air. I felt as if the air was divided, and that wings folded and unfolded close to where I stood, as if resting for a moment in their flight, which was instantly renewed; there was a faint perfume, but that might be from some stragling blossoms of clematis, or wild honeysuckle; I had observed such in the morning, just two or three flowers, resting their beauty and imparting their fragrance to a little cushion of soft green moss, that drew its sustenance out of hard stone. As I rang the gate bell, a long shrill scream sprang out into the freshness of evening-a long agonizing appealing cry. It was Jerry's voice. I knew that Mr. Lyndsey was dead! CHAPTER XIII. "Seek the treasure seldom found, With heavenly balm !" It seemed to me next to a miracle, but was only another proof of the wonderful power Helen exercised over all she desired to influence that Mr. Middleton permitted her to take the place of sick-nurse, and remain in attendance upon Florence. While I was endeavouring to calm poor Jerry-whose grief for his master found vent in passionate tears and lamentations-I received the following note from Helen : 66 "From the bed-side of Florence. "DEAR FRIEND, "I watch; do you pray! "HELEN." I forbade the messenger to mention Mr. Lyndsey's death. It would have been cruel to disturb her that night, but early the next morning, leaving Mary Ryland in the silent and sacred chamber-the one watcher over his remains-accompanied by Jerry, who promised to control his feelings' if I would only let him see his darling Miss Helen, and tell her the last'-I drove to Curzon Street. Mr. Middleton was in his library, as usual pacing backwards and forwards. He had never undressed, or gone to bed, since the hour when Florence saw the terrible confirmation of Marley's guilt in the columns of a public journal. "His child," he said, "was still unconscious, and the physician assured him she must remain so for some time; it was no proof of increased danger," he added; "she had passed a tranquil night; it was per fectly unaccountable to him, but no less a fact, and one for which, under all circumstances, he ought to be very grateful—that if his child was restless, moaning, moving her head painfully from one side of the pillow to the other, when Helen approached her, she became tranquil." Helen, so restless herself, then, had the power of calming Florence. I noticed that, whenever he mentioned Florence, he called her 'my child,' desiring to establish the fact more strongly-his child-HIS-who could not be taken from him-poor father! He received the intimation of Mr. Lyndsey's death with more emotion than I expected. May God forgive him !—may God forgive him!" he repeated three or four times. "He has appeared before the Maker and Father of us all, to answer at that dread judgment-seat, not only for his own sins but for the sins his sin brought upon those he was bound to protect from evil. Poor miserable man! God pity him! God forgive him!" |