Tempest and Sunshine Part 9

"Not going!" echoed Mrs. Middleton. "Why do you say so? You are going, you must go!"

"There is no must about it," answered Julia; "I do not choose to go, and I shall not go!"

"Are you in earnest, Julia?" asked Mrs. Middleton.

"As much in earnest as I ever was in my life," replied Julia.

"Well, then," returned the mother in a decided tone, "you shall go; I command you to go, and I must be obeyed!"

"I'd like to see your commands enforced, Madam," said Julia, her beautiful face dark with rage. "Yes, I'd like to see anybody make me go if I did not wish to. Mr. Wilmot is nothing to me, and I would hardly go to save his life."

"Oh, Julia, Julia!" said Mrs. Middleton bitterly, "has it come to this? I can see it all now!"

"What all can you see so distinctly?" asked Julia scornfully.

"I can understand what part you have had in causing Mr. Wilmot's death,"

answered Mrs. Middleton.

Julia turned ashy pale, and her mother continued-"Often in his ravings he spoke of a letter, a cruel letter he called it, and I heard it hinted that it was the receipt of that letter which brought on a relapse. Now you will tell me whether you wrote that letter, and if so, what were its contents?"

"I wonder how I'm expected to know what letter you mean," said Julia.

"However, I did write to him and ask to be released from my engagement, and I had my reasons for so doing."

Mrs. Middleton sighed and said, "It is as I feared; on you, Julia, rests in a measure the cause of his death."

"Better call me a murderer at once. But I'll not stay for more abuse,"

said Julia, as she left the room.

When she was gone Mrs. Middleton buried her face in her hands, and sent forth sob after sob from her crushed heart-crushed by the sinfulness and mocking disobedience of her first born. While she was still weeping, f.a.n.n.y stole softly from the apartment and went in quest of her sister. She found her, as she had expected, in her room, and going up to her threw her arms around her neck, and plead long and earnestly that she would go to Mr.

Wilmot. But Julia's answer was ever the same, "No, I will not."

"And why will you not?" asked f.a.n.n.y.

"Because," replied Julia, "Mr. Wilmot is nothing to me, and there is no reason why I should go to him, more than to any other lovesick youth who takes a fancy to send for me. You would not feel obliged to run if Bill Jeffrey should have the measles and send for you."

"Oh, stop, stop," said f.a.n.n.y, "you shall not liken Bill Jeffrey to Mr.

Wilmot, who is so good, so n.o.ble. You loved him once, and for the sake of that love go to him now; it can do you no harm."

"It would seriously affect my plans for the future; and once for all, I tell you I will not go," replied Julia.

"Then I will," said f.a.n.n.y, "and show him that I, at least, have not forgotten him."

This idea pleased Julia, and she answered, "I wish you would, for your presence will do as much good as mine."

f.a.n.n.y hastily ran down stairs and, going to her mother, said, "Mother, Julia will not go, but I will. I should like to very much. Will you let me?"

Mrs. Middleton was too much engrossed in her painful thoughts to give much heed to what f.a.n.n.y said. She only knew that she wished her to consent to something, and she mechanically answered, "Yes, yes, go." It was then after sunset, and as the sky had all day been cloudy, darkness was fast gathering over the earth, but f.a.n.n.y heeded it not. She bade Ike make haste, and in a few moments her favorite pony was saddled. Ike's horse was then got in readiness, and they were soon galloping off in the direction of Frankfort. 'Twas a long ride of twelve miles and the darkness increased every moment, while a steady, drizzling rain commenced falling. Still f.a.n.n.y kept perseveringly on, occasionally speaking an encouraging word to Ike, who pulled his old cap closely over his ears and muttered, "Lord bless young miss. Seems like 'twas her was done promised to young marster, a puttin' out this desput night to see him."

But f.a.n.n.y kept her thoughts to herself, and while she is making her way to Frankfort, we will precede her and see what is taking place in the sick room. The large drops of sweat which stood upon Mr. Wilmot's high, white forehead, showed that the hour of dissolution was at hand. His mind was wandering, but still the burden of his soul was, "Julia, Julia, oh, will she not come?" Mr. Miller stood by him and endeavored as far as possible to quiet him, and once, during a lucid interval, he asked, "If Julia does not come, what shall I tell her when I see her?"

Mr. Wilmot's eyes opened wide and for a moment he looked wistfully at his friend, and then said mournfully, "I cannot see you, Joseph, my vision has departed forever, and if Julia comes, I cannot now look on her loved features, but if I die ere she arrives, ask her if she wrote that letter."

Just then there was a noise without, and the sound of horses' feet was heard coming up the graveled walk. Some one in the room whispered, "It must be Miss Middleton." The sound caught the dying man's ear and he wildly exclaimed, "Has she come? Oh! Has she come?" f.a.n.n.y was now heard speaking in the hall. We have said that her voice was strangely like her sister's, so it was no wonder that Mr. Wilmot, in his feverish delirium, mistook it. Clasping his hands together, he exclaimed, "Thank G.o.d she has come! She has come!"

The excitement was too much for him and for a few moments he was unconscious. When at last animation was restored, f.a.n.n.y was hanging over his pillow, and f.a.n.n.y's tears were upon his cheek; but he thought it was Julia, and drawing her to him, he imprinted a burning kiss upon her fair brow, saying, "G.o.d bless you for coming, precious Julia, I knew you would come; and now tell me, do you not love me as well as you always have?"

f.a.n.n.y was bewildered, and looked imploringly at Mr. Miller, who said, "Richard, do you think it is Julia who is standing by you now?" The sick man gave a startled look and almost shrieked out, "Julia? Yes, is it not Julia? Speak quick and tell me, isn't Julia here?" Mr. Miller's eyes filled with tears as he answered sadly, "No, Richard, Julia is not here; it is f.a.n.n.y who has come." A deathly paleness pa.s.sed over Mr. Wilmot's face and a paroxysm of delirium ensued more violent than any which had preceded it. At last it partially pa.s.sed off and he became comparatively calm, but still persisted in thinking it was Julia whose hand he held in his and whose breath was upon his cheek. "Heaven bless you for coming, beloved one," he would say, "I knew you would come, and still the dreadful thought has haunted me, that you might be false, for that was a cruel letter; but you did not write it, did you?"

f.a.n.n.y answered through her tears, "No, Mr. Wilmot, I did not write it. It is f.a.n.n.y who is speaking to you." But Mr. Wilmot understood only the first part of what she said, and continued, "I knew you did not, I am satisfied now to die; and yet 'tis hard to die when I am so young and so far from home, but it is sweet to know that I have your love to the last. When I am dead, you will tell them at home how I loved and prayed for them. My mother will weep bitterly for her son, who died so far away, but she does not love me as well as you do, does she, dearest?"

Just then Dr. Lacey entered the room. He seemed surprised to see f.a.n.n.y there, and to hear the words of endearment addressed to her by Mr. Wilmot, but Mr. Miller softly told him of the mistake. This seemed to satisfy him, but he anxiously noted every change of f.a.n.n.y's countenance. At last Mr.

Wilmot said, "If you did not write that letter, who did? Was it, could it have been your sister?"

"Oh, no! No!" said f.a.n.n.y, "I did not write it."

"I know you did not, dearest," said he; "you would not do such a thing, but who did? I cannot think it was f.a.n.n.y, who was always so gentle, so guileless."

Poor f.a.n.n.y! She felt that her beloved teacher was dying with a suspicion of her innocence, and she wept most bitterly. At last a change pa.s.sed over Mr. Wilmot's face, a change which showed that the last trying moment had come. It frequently occurs with dying persons that at the last their faculties are for a moment fully restored. So it was with Mr. Wilmot. A bright smile broke over his face and looking up at Mr. Miller, he said, "I thank my Heavenly Father I can see again. Now, where is Julia? I would look on her face once more."

"I told you," said Mr. Miller, "that you were mistaken; it is not Julia."

"Not Julia!" said Mr. Wilmot, again becoming delirious. "Not Julia! It cannot be true." Then drawing f.a.n.n.y toward him he looked earnestly in her face. Slowly the bitter truth broke over his mind, and he said, "Yes, I was mistaken! But I bless you for coming; but Julia, my too dearly loved Julia-she is not here. Oh, if I can never see her in this world, shall I see her in heaven?"

They were the last words he ever uttered. Falling back on his pillow, he drew f.a.n.n.y's face to his, and with his last breath kissed her quivering lips, and all was over. Sadly Mr. Miller closed the eyes of his departed friend, and smoothing the covering about him, left him to the care of the servants. A few hours later, f.a.n.n.y entered the room with Dr. Lacey, again to look on the face of Mr. Wilmot. The sun was just rising, and its first red rays fell upon the marble features of the dead. There was on his face an expression so calm and heavenly that f.a.n.n.y held her breath while looking at him, lest she should disturb his peaceful repose. At length she kissed his cold forehead, and silently left the room which contained the pale sleeper.

In the course of a few hours she returned home, bearing the sad tidings, which was received by her mother with a burst of tears; but Julia preserved the same indifference which had been manifested throughout all Mr. Wilmot's illness. Hard-hearted as she was, there came a time in after years when that proud head was bowed with grief, and those dark eyes were bedimmed by tears of penitence, which could not atone for the past; for they were of no avail to bring back the dead from their silent resting place.

CHAPTER VI

SUNs.h.i.+NE HAS TWO GRAVES UPON WHICH TO PLANT FLOWERS

Mr. Wilmot's death occurred on Tuesday morning, and the following Thursday was appointed for his burial. It was the 1st of September, and a bright, beautiful day; but its sunlight fell on many aching hearts, for though he who lay in his low coffin, so cold and still, was a "stranger in a strange land," there were many whose tears fell like summer rain for one who had thus early pa.s.sed away. He had during his lifetime been a member of the Episcopal church, and his funeral services were to take place at Ascension Church.

The house was filled to overflowing. Mr. Middleton, Mr. Miller, Dr. Lacey and f.a.n.n.y occupied the front seat, as princ.i.p.al mourners for the deceased.

Many searching eyes were bent on the fair young girl, whose white forehead gleamed from under the folds of her veil, and whose eyelids, wet with tears, drooped heavily upon her pale cheek. Madam Rumor had been busy with her thousand tongues, and the scene at the deathbed had been told and retold in twenty different forms, until at last it had become settled that on f.a.n.n.y's part there was some secret attachment, or she never would have evinced so much interest in Mr. Wilmot. She, however, was ignorant of all this, and sat there wholly unconscious of the interest she was exciting.

Julia was not there. She had again defied her mother's commands, and resisted all f.a.n.n.y's entreaties, that she would go to the funeral.

"You ought to see Mr. Wilmot," said f.a.n.n.y. "He looks so calm, so peaceful and," she added in a low voice, "so forgiving."

"So forgiving!" quickly repeated Julia. "I wonder what he has to forgive.

If I had continued to love him, 'twould not have saved his life."