'The reading of it now and then,' I said, 'will encourage that faith in the brighter and better part of human nature which Ihope, by God's help, to preserve pure to my dying day.' In that way I became possessed of the manuscript: it was Anne's husband who made the copy for me.You have noticed a few withered leaves scattered here and there between the pages.They were put there, years since, by the bride's own hand: they are all that now remain of the flowers that Anne Rodway gathered on her marriage morning from Mary Mallinson's grave."Jessie tried to answer, but the words failed on her lips.Between the effect of the story, and the anticipation of the parting now so near at hand, the good, impulsive, affectionate creature was fairly overcome.She laid her head on Owen's shoulder, and kept tight hold of his hand, and let her heart speak simply for itself, without attempting to help it by a single word.
The silence that followed was broken harshly by the tower clock.
The heavy hammer slowly rang out ten strokes through the gloomy night-time and the dying storm.
I waited till the last humming echo of the clock fainted into dead stillness.I listened once more attentively, and again listened in vain.Then I rose, and proposed to my brothers that we should leave our guest to compose herself for the night.
When Owen and Morgan were ready to quit the room, I took her by the hand, and drew her a little aside.
"You leave us early, my dear," I said; "but, before you go to-morrow morning--"I stopped to listen for the last time, before the words were spoken which committed me to the desperate experiment of pleading George's cause in defiance of his own request.Nothing caught my ear but the sweep of the weary weakened wind and the melancholy surging of the shaken trees.
"But, before you go to-morrow morning," I resumed, "I want to speak to you in private.We shall breakfast at eight o'clock.Is it asking too much to beg you to come and see me alone in my study at half past seven?"Just as her lips opened to answer me I saw a change pass over her face.I had kept her hand in mine while I was speaking, and Imust have pressed it unconsciously so hard as almost to hurt her.
She may even have uttered a few words of remonstrance; but they never reached me: my whole hearing sense was seized, absorbed, petrified.At the very instant when I had ceased speaking, I, and I alone, heard a faint sound--a sound that was new to me--fly past the Glen Tower on the wings of the wind.
"Open the window, for God's sake!" I cried.
My hand mechanically held hers tighter and tighter.She struggled to free it, looking hard at me with pale cheeks and frightened eyes.Owen hastened up and released her, and put his arms round me.
"Griffith, Griffith!" he whispered, "control yourself, for George's sake."Morgan hurried to the window and threw it wide open.
The wind and rain rushed in fiercely.Welcome, welcome wind! They all heard it now."Oh, Father in heaven, so merciful to fathers on earth--my son, my son!"It came in, louder and louder with every gust of wind--the joyous, rapid gathering roll of wheels.My eyes fastened on her as if they could see to her heart, while she stood there with her sweet face turned on me all pale and startled.I tried to speak to her; I tried to break away from Owen's arms, to throw my own arms round her, to keep her on my bosom, till _he_ came to take her from me.But all my strength had gone in the long waiting and the long suspense.My head sank on Owen's breast--but I still heard the wheels.Morgan loosened my cravat, and sprinkled water over my face--I still heard the wheels.The poor terrified girl ran into her room, and came back with her smelling-salts--I heard the carriage stop at the house.The room whirled round and round with me; but I heard the eager hurry of footsteps in the hall, and the opening of the door.In another moment my son's voice rose clear and cheerful from below, greeting the old servants who loved him.The dear, familiar tones just poured into my ear, and then, the moment they filled it, hushed me suddenly to rest.
When I came to myself again my eyes opened upon George.I was lying on the sofa, still in the same room; the lights we had read by in the evening were burning on the table; my son was kneeling at my pillow, and we two were alone.
THE MORNING.
THE wind is fainter, but there is still no calm.The rain is ceasing, but there is still no sunshine.The view from my window shows me the mist heavy on the earth, and a dim gray veil drawn darkly over the sky.Less than twelve hours since, such a prospect would have saddened me for the day.I look out at it this morning, through the bright medium of my own happiness, and not the shadow of a shade falls across the steady inner sunshine that is poring over my heart.
