Lady Cecil had existed for some days in a state of frightful delirium,
and, during that time, her ravings had been so loud and continued, that
her present repose was elysium to those who loved her. Constance bent
her knees, and prayed in silence, long and fervently, for support. Sir
Robert, leaning back in the richly-cushioned chair, covered his face
with his hands, withdrawing them only when the sleeper groaned or
breathed more heavily. At length both felt as if death had indeed
entered the chamber, so motionless lay the object of their love: they
continued gazing from each other to the couch, until the misty light of
morning streamed coldly through the open shutters. Another hour of sad
watching passed, and, with a long and deeply drawn sigh, the sufferer
opened her eyes: they were no longer wild and wandering, but rested with
calm intelligence on her husband and her child.
"It is long since I have seen you, except in strange dreams," she said,
or rather murmured; "and now I shall be with you but for a very little
time!"
Constance put to her lips a silver cup containing some refreshment,
while Sir Robert supported her head on his arm.
"Call no one in. Constance--Cecil--my moments now are numbered:--draw
back the curtains, that I may once more look upon the light of morning!"
Constance obeyed; and the full beams of day entered the room. "How
beautiful! how glorious!" repeated the dying woman, as her sight drank
in the reviving light; "it heralds me to immortality--where there is no
darkness--no disappointment--no evil! How pale are the rays of that
lamp, Cecil! How feeble man's inventions, contrasted with the works of
the Almighty!" Constance rose to extinguish it. "Let it be," she
continued, feebly; "let it be, dearest; it has illumined my last night,
and we will expire together." The affectionate daughter turned away to
hide her tears; but when did the emotion of a beloved child escape a
mother's notice?--"Alas! my noble Constance weeping! I thought she, at
all events, could have spared me this trial:--leave us for a few
moments; let me not see you weep, Constance--let me not see it--tears
enough have fallen in these halls;--do not mourn, my child, that your
mother will find rest at last."
How often did Constantia remember these words! How often, when the heart
that dictated such gentle chiding, had ceased to beat, did Constantia
Cecil, gazing into the depths of the blue and mysterious sky, think upon
her mother in heaven!