by Emma Wolf
Chapter XXVI
Herbert Kemp and Dr. Stephens stood quietly talking to Mr. Levice. Thelatter seemed weaker since his exertion of the morning, and his head layback among the pillows as if the support were grateful. Still hiseager eyes were keenly fastened upon the close-lipped mouth and broad,speaking brow of the minister who spoke so quietly and pleasantly. Kemp,looking pale and handsome, answered fitfully when appealed to, and keptan expectant eye upon the door. When Ruth entered, he went forward tomeet her, drawing her arm through his. They had had no word together,no meeting of any kind but right here in the morning; and now, as shewalked toward the bed, the gentle smile that came as far as her eyes wasall for her father. Thought could hold no rival for him that day.
"This is Miss Levice, Dr. Stephens," said Kemp, presenting them. A swiftlook of wonderment passed under the reverend gentleman's beetle-brows ashe bent over her hand. Could this tall, beautiful girl be the daughterof little Jules Levice? Where did she get that pure Madonna face, thatregal bearing, that mobile and expressive mouth? The explanation wassufficient when Mrs. Levice entered. They stood talking, not much, butin that wandering, obligatory way that precedes any undertaking. Theywere waiting for Arnold; he came in presently with a bunch of paleheliotropes. He always looked well and in character when dressed forsome social event; it was as if he were made for this style of dress,not the style for him. The delicate pink of his cheeks looked more likethe damask skin of a young girl than ever; his eyes, however, behindtheir glasses, were veiled. As he handed Ruth the flowers, he said,--
"I asked the doctor to allow me to give you these. Will you hold themwith my love?"
"They are both very dear to me," she replied, raising the flowers to herlips.
Their fragrance filled the room while the simple ceremony was beingperformed. It was a striking picture, and one not likely to beforgotten. Levice's eyes filled with proud, pardonable tears as helooked at his daughter,--for never had she looked as to-day in hersimple white gown, her face like a magnolia bud, a fragrant dream;standing next to Kemp, the well-mated forms were noticeable. EvenArnold, with his heart like a crushed ball of lead, acknowledged itin bitter resignation. For him the scene was one of those silent,purgatorial moments that are approached with senses steeled and thoughtheld in a vice. To the others it passed, as if it had happened in adream. Even when Kemp stooped and pressed his lips for the first timeupon his wife's, the real meaning of what had taken place seemed faraway to Ruth; the present held but one thing in prominence,--the paleface upon the pillow. She felt her mother's arms around her; she knewthat Louis had raised her hand to his lips, that she had drawn his headdown and kissed him, that Dr. Kemp was standing silently beside her,that the minister had spoken some gravely pleasant words; but all thewhile she wanted to tear herself away from it all and fold that eager,loving, dying face close to hers. She was allowed to do so finally; andwhen she was drawn into the outstretched arms, there was only the longsilence of love.
Kemp had left the room with Dr. Stephens, having a further favor tointrust to him. The short announcement of this marriage, which Dr.Stephens gave for insertion in the evening papers, created a world oftalk.
When Kemp re-entered, Levice called him to him, holding out his hand.The doctor grasped it in that firm clasp which was always a tonic.
"Will you kneel?" asked Levice; Kemp knelt beside his wife, and the oldfather blessed them in the words that held a double solemnity now:--
"'The Lord bless thee and keep thee.
"'The Lord make his face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee.
"'The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee and give thee peace.'"
"I think if you don't mind, dear, I shall close my eyes now," he said asthey arose.
Ruth moved about, closing the blinds.
"Don't close out all the sun," said her father; "I like it,--it is anold friend. After all, I don't think I'll sleep; let me lie here andlook at you all awhile. Louis, my boy, must you go?"
"Oh, no," he replied, turning back from the door and gliding into achair.
"Thank you; and now don't think of me. Go on talking; it will be aforetaste of something better to lie here and listen. Esther, are youcold? I felt a shudder go through your hand, love. Ruth, give yourmother a shawl; don't forget that sometimes some one should see thatyour mother is not cold. Just talk, will you?"
So they talked,--that is, the men did. Their grave, deep voices andthe heavily breathing of the invalid were the only sounds in the room.Finally, as the twilight stole in, it was quite still. Levice haddropped into a sort of stupor. Kemp arose then.
"I shall be back presently," he said, addressing Mrs. Levice, whostarted perceptibly as he spoke. "I have some few directions to give tomy man that I entirely forgot."
"Could not we send some one? You must not stay away now."
"I shall return immediately. Mr. Levice does not need me while hesleeps, and these instructions are important. Don't stir, Arnold; I knowmy way out."
Nevertheless Arnold accompanied him to the door. Ruth gave little heedto their movements. Her agitated heart had grasped the fact that thelines upon her father's face had grown weaker and paler, his breathingshorter and more rasping; when she passed him and touched his hand, itseemed cold and lifeless.
At nine the doctor came in again; the only appreciable difference in hisgoing or coming was that no one rose or made any formal remarks. Hewent up to the bed and placed his hand on the sleeping head. Mrs. Levicemoved her chair slightly as he seated himself on the edge of the bedand took Levice's hand. Ruth, watching him with wide, distended eyes,thought he would never drop it. Her senses, sharpened by suffering, readevery change on his face. As he withdrew his hand, she gave one long,involuntary moan. He turned quickly to her.
"What is it?" he asked, his grave eyes scanning her anxiously.
"Nothing," she responded. It was the first word she had spoken to himsince the afternoon ceremony. He turned back to Levice, lowering his earto his chest. After a faint, almost imperceptible pause he arose.
"I think you had all better lie down," he said softly. "I shall sit withhim, and you all need rest."
"I could not rest," said Mrs. Levice; "this chair is all I require."
"If you would lie on the couch here," he urged, "you would find theposition easier."
"No, no! I could not."
He looked at Ruth.
"I shall go by and by," she answered.
Arnold had long since gone out.
Ruth's by and by stretched on interminably. Kemp took up the "Argonaut"that lay folded on the table. He did not read much, his eyes strayingfrom the printed page before him to the "finis" writing itself slowlyon Jules Levice's face, and thence to Ruth's pale profile; she wascrying,--so quietly, though, that but for the visible tears an onlookermight not have known it; she herself did not,--her heart was silentlyoverflowing.
Toward morning Levice suddenly sprang up in bed and made as if to leapupon the floor. Kemp's quick, strong hand held him back.
"Where are you going?" he asked. Mrs. Levice stood instantly beside him.
"Oh," gasped Levice, his eyes falling upon her, "I wanted to get home;but it is all right now. Is the child in bed, Esther?"
"Here she is; lie still, Jules; you know you are ill."
"But not now. Ah, Kemp, I can get up now; I am quite well, you know."
"Wait till morning," he resisted, humoring this inevitable idiosyncrasy.
"But it is morning now; and I feel so light and well. Open the shutters,Ruth; see, Esther; a beautiful day."
It was quite dark with the darkness that immediately precedes dawn;the windows were bespangled with the distillations of the night, whichgleamed as the light fell on them.
Mrs. Levice seated herself beside him.
"It is very early, Jules," she said, smiling with hope, not knowing thatthis deceptive feeling was but the rose-flush of the sinking sun; "butif you feel well when day breaks you can get up, can't he Doctor?"
"Yes.
"
Levice lay back with closed eyes for some minutes. A quivering smilecrossed his face and his eyes opened.
"Were you singing that song just now, Ruth, my angel?"
"What son, Father dear?"
"That--'Adieu,--adieu--pays--amours'--we sang it--you know--when we lefthome together--my mother said--I was too small--too small--and--too--"
Ruth looked around wildly for Kemp. He had left the room; she must gofor him. As she came into the hall, she saw him and Louis hurriedlyadvancing up the corridor. Seeing her, they reached her side in abreath.
"Go," she whispered through pale lips; "he is breathing with that--"
Kemp laid his hand upon her shoulder.
"Stay here a second; it will be quite peaceful."
She looked at him in agony and walked blindly in after Louis.
He was lying as they had left him, with Mrs. Levice's hand in his.
"Keep tight hold, darling," the rattling voice was saying. "Don't takeit off till--another takes it--it will not be hard then." Suddenly hesaw Louis standing pale and straight at the foot of the bed.
"My good boy," he faltered, "my good boy, God will bless--" His eyesclosed again; paler and paler grew his face.
"Father!" cried Ruth in agony.
He looked toward her smiling.
"The sweetest word," he murmured; "it was--my glory."
Silence. A soul is passing; a simple, loving soul, giving no trouble inits passage; dropping the toils, expanding with infinity. Not utterlygone; immortality is assured us in the hearts that have touched ours.
Silence. A shadow falls, and Jules Levice's work is done; and the firstsunbeams crept about him, lay at his feet a moment, touched the quiethands, fell on the head like a benediction, and rested there.
