CHAPTER LIX.
[Greek: Deute teleutaion aspasmon domen.]
The excitement which had prevailed through the village of Denton wasintensified by the arrival there of the body of the old man. For hismysterious death no one could account except one person.
That one was Brandon, whom Despard surprised by his speedy return, andto whom he narrated the circumstances of the discovery. Brandon knew whoit was that could wield that cord, what arm it was that had held thatweapon, and what heart it was that was animated by sufficient vengeanceto strike these blows.
Despard, finding his purpose thus unexpectedly taken away, remained inthe village and waited. There was one whom he wished to see again. Onthe following day Frank Brandon arrived from London. He met Langhettiwith deep emotion, and learned from his brother the astonishing story ofEdith.
On the following day that long-lost sister herself appeared in companywith Mrs. Thornton. Her form, always fragile, now appeared frailer thanever, her face had a deeper pallor, her eyes an intenser lustre, herexpression was more unearthly. The joy which the brothers felt atfinding their sister was subdued by an involuntary awe which wasinspired by her presence. She seemed to them as she had seemed to otherslike one who had arisen from the dead.
At the sight of her Langhetti's face grew radiant--all pain seemed toleave him. She bent over him, and their wan lips met in the only kisswhich they had ever exchanged, with all that deep love which they hadfelt for one another. She sat by his bedside. She seemed to appropriatehim to herself. The others acknowledged this quiet claim and gave way toit.
As she kissed Langhetti's lips he murmured faintly:
"I knew you would come."
"Yes," said Edith. "We will go together.
"Yes, sweetest and dearest," said Langhetti. "And therefore we meet nownever to part again."
She looked at him fondly.
"The time of our deliverance is near, oh my friend."
"Near," repeated Langhetti, with a smile of ecstasy--"near. Yes, youhave already by your presence brought me nearer to my immortality."
Mrs. Thornton was pale and wan; and the shock which she felt at thesight of her brother at first overcame her.
Despard said nothing to her through the day, but as evening came on hewent up to her and in a low voice said, "Let us take a walk."
Mrs. Thornton looked at him earnestly, and then put on her bonnet. Itwas quite dark as they left the house. They walked along the road. Thesea was on their left.
"This is the last that we shall see of one another, Little Playmate,"said Despard, after a long silence. "I have left Holby forever."
"Left Holby! Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Thornton, anxiously.
"To join the army."
"The army!"
"Little Playmate," said Despard, "even my discovery of my father's deathhas not changed me. Even my thirst for vengeance could not take theplace of my love. Listen--I flung myself with all the ardor that I couldcommand into the pursuit of my father's murderers. I forced myself to anunnatural pitch of pitilessness and vindictiveness. I set out to pursueone of the worst of these men with the full determination to kill him.God saved me from blood-guiltiness. I found the man dead in the road.After this all my passion for vengeance died out, and I was brought faceto face with the old love and the old despair. But each of us would dierather than do wrong, or go on in a wrong course. The only thing leftfor us is to separate forever."
"Yes, forever," murmured Mrs. Thornton.
"Ah, Little Playmate," he continued, taking her hand, "you are the onewho was not only my sweet companion but the bright ideal of my youth.You always stood transfigured in my eyes. You, Teresa, were in my mindsomething perfect--a bright, brilliant being unlike any other. Whetheryou were really what I believed you mattered not so far as the effectupon me was concerned. You were at once a real and an ideal being. Ibelieved in you, and believe in you yet.
"I was not a lover; I was a devotee. My feelings toward you are such asDante describes his feelings toward his Beatrice. My love is tender andreverential. I exalt you to a plane above my own. What I say may soundextravagant to you, but it is actual fact with me. Why it should be so Ican not tell. I can only say--I am so made.
"We part, and I leave you; but I shall be like Dante, I suppose, and asthe years pass, instead of weakening my love they will only refine itand purify it. You will be to me a guardian angel, a patron saint--yourname shall always mingle with my prayers. Is it impious to name yourname in prayer? I turn away from you because I would rather suffer thando wrong. May I not pray for my darling?"
"I don't know what to do," said Mrs. Thornton, wearily. "Your power overme is fearful. Lama, I would do any thing for your sake. You talkabout your memories; it is not for me to speak about mine. Whether youidealize me or not, after all, you must know what I really am."
"SHE WAS WEEPING. DESPARD FOLDED HER IN HIS ARMS."]
"Would you be glad never to see me again?"
The hand which Despard held trembled.
"If you would be happier," said she.
"Would you be glad if I could conquer this love of mine, and meet youagain as coolly as a common friend?"
"I want you to be happy, Lama," she replied. "I would suffer myself tomake you happy."
She was weeping. Despard folded her in his arms.
"This once," said he, "the only time, Little Playmate, in this life."
She wept upon his breast.
"[Greek: Teleutaion aspasmon domen]" said Despard, murmuring in a lowvoice the opening of the song of the dead, so well known, so often song,so fondly remembered--the song which bids fare-well to the dead when thefriends bestow the "last kiss."
He bent down his head. Her head fell. His lips touched her forehead.
She felt the beating of his heart; she felt his frame tremble from headto foot; she heard his deep-drawn breathing, every breath a sigh.
"It is our last farewell," said he, in a voice of agony.
Then he tore himself away, and, a few minutes later, was riding from thevillage.
CHAPTER LX.
CONCLUSION.
A month passed. Despard gave no sign. A short note which he wrote toBrandon announced his arrival at London, and informed him that importantaffairs required his departure abroad.
The cottage was but a small place, and Brandon determined to haveLanghetti conveyed to the Hall. An ambulance was obtained from Exeter,and on this Langhetti and Edith were taken away.
On arriving at Brandon Hall Beatrice found her diary in its place ofconcealment, the memory of old sorrows which could never be forgotten.But those old sorrows were passing away now, in the presence of her newjoy.
And yet that joy was darkened by the cloud of a new sorrow. Langhettiwas dying. His frail form became more and more attenuated every day, hiseyes more lustrous, his face more spiritual. Down every step of that waywhich led to the grave Edith went with him, seeming in her own face andform to promise a speedier advent in that spirit-world where she longedto arrive. Beside these Beatrice watched, and Mrs. Thornton added hertender care.
Day by day Langhetti grew worse. At last one day he called for hisviolin. He had caused it to be sent for on a previous occasion, buthad never used it. His love for music was satisfied by the songs ofBeatrice. Now he wished to exert his own skill with the last remnants ofhis strength.
Langhetti was propped up by pillows, so that he might hold theinstrument. Near him Edith reclined on a sofa. Her large, lustrous eyeswere fixed on him. Her breathing, which came and went rapidly, showedher utter weakness and prostration.
Langhetti drew his bow across the strings.
It was a strange, sweet sound, weak, but sweet beyond all words--a long,faint, lingering tone, which rose and died and rose again, bearing awaythe souls of those who heard it into a realm of enchantment and delight.
That tone gave strength to Langhetti. It was as though some unseen powerhad been invoked and had come to his aid. The tones came forth morestrongly, on firmer p
inions, flying from the strings and toweringthrough the air.
The strength of these tones seemed to emanate from some unseen power;so also did their meaning. It was a meaning beyond what might beintelligible to those who listened--a meaning beyond mortal thought.
Yet Langhetti understood it, and so did Edith. Her eyes grew brighter, aflush started to her wan cheeks, her breathing grew more rapid.
The music went on. More subtle, more penetrating, more thrilling in itsmysterious meaning, it rose and swelled through the air, like the songof some unseen ones, who were waiting for newcomers to the Invisibleland.
Suddenly Beatrice gave a piercing cry. She rushed to Edith's sofa. Edithlay back, her marble face motionless, her white lips apart, her eyeslooking upward. But the lips breathed no more, and in the eyes there nolonger beamed the light of life.
At the cry of Beatrice the violin fell from Langhetti's hand, and hesank back. His face was turned toward Edith. He saw her and knew it all.
LANGHETTI DREW HIS BOW ACROSS THE STRINGS.]
He said not a word, but lay with his face turned toward her. They wishedto carry her away, but he gently reproved them.
"Wait!" he murmured. "In a short time you will carry away another also.Wait."
They waited.
An hour before midnight all was over. They had passed--those purespirits, from a world which was uncongenial to a fairer world and apurer clime.
They were buried side by side in the Brandon vaults. Frank thenreturned to London. Mrs. Thornton went back to Holby. The new rector wassurprised at the request of the lady of Thornton Grange to be allowedto become organist in Trinity Church. She offered to pension off the oldman who now presided there. Her request was gladly acceded to. Her zealwas remarkable. Every day she visited the church to practice at theorgan. This became the purpose of her life. Yet of all the pieces twowere performed most frequently in her daily practice, the one beingthe Agnus Dei; the other, the [Greek: teleutaion aspasmon] of St. JohnDamascene. Peace! Peace! Peace!
Was that cry of hers unavailing? Of Despard nothing was known for sometime. Mr. Thornton once mentioned to his wife that the Rev. CourtenayDespard had joined the Eleventh Regiment, and had gone to South Africa.He mentioned this because he had seen a paragraph stating that a CaptainDespard had been killed in the Kaffir war, and wondered whether it couldby any possibility be their old friend or not.
At Brandon Hall, the one who had been so long a prisoner and a slavesoon became mistress.
The gloom which had rested over the house was dispelled, and Brandonand his wife were soon able to look back, even to the darkest period oftheir lives, without fear of marring their perfect happiness.
THE END.
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