"
Impressively and pleadingly, these words fell on Arthur's aching
heart, even at that moment when he felt to comply with them was and
must ever be impossible. When time had done its work, and softened
individual agony, they returned again and yet again; and at each
returning, seemed less painful to obey.
"And Isabella, my kind, loving, generous mistress," she continued,
after a very long pause, and her voice was so faint as scarcely
to make distinguishable the words, save for the still lingering
sweetness, and clearness of her articulation--"Oh! what can I say to
her? Arthur, dearest Arthur, thou must repay the debt of gratitude
I owe her. Her creed condemns, but her heart loves me--aye, still,
still! And better (though she cannot think so) than had I for earthly
joy turned traitor to my God. Oh, tell her how with my last breath I
loved and blessed her, Arthur; tell her we shall meet again, where
Jew and Gentile worship the same God! Oh that I could but have
proved--proved--How suddenly it has grown dark! Uncle Julien, is it
not time for the evening prayer?"
And her lips moved in the wordless utterance of the prayer for which
she had asked, forgetting it had some time before been said; and then
her head sunk lower and lower on Arthur's bosom, and there was no
sound.
Pages:
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394