his watch. Nor was it without avail. The Crimson Hand, which at
first had been strongly visible upon the marble paleness of
Georgiana's cheek now grew more faintly outlined. She remained not
less pale than ever; but the birthmark, with every breath that came
and went, lost somewhat of its former distinctness. Its presence had
been awful; its departure was more awful still. Watch the stain of the
rainbow fading out of the sky; and you will know how that mysterious
symbol passed away.
"By Heaven, it is well-nigh gone!" said Aylmer to himself, in
almost irrepressible ecstasy. "I can scarcely trace it now. Success!
Success! And now it is like the faintest rose-color. The slightest
flush of blood across her cheek would overcome it. But she is so
pale!"
He drew aside the window-curtain, and suffered the light of natural
day to fall into the room, and rest upon her cheek. At the same
time, he heard a gross, hoarse chuckle, which he had long known as his
servant Aminadab's expression of delight.
"Ah, clod! Ah, earthly mass!" cried Aylmer, laughing in a sort of
frenzy. "You have served me well! Master and Spirit- Earth and Heaven-
have both done their part in this! Laugh, thing of the senses! You
have earned the right to laugh."
These exclamations broke Georgiana's sleep. She slowly unclosed her
eyes, and gazed into the mirror, which her husband had arranged for
that purpose. A faint smile flitted over her lips, when she recognized
how barely perceptible was now that Crimson Hand, which had once
blazed forth with such disastrous brilliancy as to scare away all
their happiness. But then her eyes sought Aylmer's face, with a
trouble and anxiety that he could by no means account for.
"My poor Aylmer!" murmured she.
"Poor? Nay, richest! Happiest! Most favored!" exclaimed he. "My
peerless bride, it is successful! You are perfect!"
"My poor Aylmer!" she repeated, with a more than human
tenderness. "You have aimed loftily! you have done nobly! Do not
repent, that, with so high and pure a feeling, you have rejected the
best the earth could offer. Aylmer- dearest Aylmer, I am dying!"
Alas, it was too true! The fatal Hand had grappled with the mystery
of life, and was the bond by which an angelic spirit kept itself in
union with a mortal frame. As the last crimson tint of the birthmark-
that sole token of human imperfection- faded from her cheek, the
parting breath of the now perfect woman passed into the atmosphere,
and her soul, lingering a moment near her husband, took its heavenward
flight. Then a hoarse, chuckling laugh was heard again! Thus ever does
the gross Fatality of Earth exult in its invariable triumph over the
immortal essence, which, in this dim sphere of half-development,
demands the completeness of a higher state. Yet, had Aylmer reached a
profounder wisdom, he need not thus have flung away the happiness,
which would have woven his mortal life of the self-same texture with
the celestial. The momentary circumstance was too strong for him; he
failed to look beyond the shadowy scope of Time, and living once for
all in Eternity, to find the perfect Future in the present.
THE END
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The Birthmark Page 3
